H 


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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 
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The    Hand-Made    Gentleman 


HE    SHOOK    HIS    CANE    OVER    THE    MAI 


IS    EYES    GLOWED    LIKE    A    PROPHET  S 


The    Hand-Made 

Gentleman 

A  Tale  of  the 
Battles  of  Peace 

By 

Irving    Bacheller 

Author  of 

"Eben  Holden"  "Silas  Strong" 
etc.,  etc. 


New  York  and   London 

Harper    £r    Brothers    Publishers 

1909 


BOOKS  BY 
IRVING   BACHELLER 

THE  HAND- MADE  GENTLEMAN.    Post  8vo.    .    .$1.50 

EBEN  HOI.DEN.    Illustrated.    Post  8vo    ....  1.50 

1 .1.1  %  HOLDEN.    Edition  de  Luxe 2.00 

EBEN  HOLDEN'S  LAST  DAY  A-FISHING.    16mo  .  .50 

D'RI  AND  I.     Illustrated.    Post  8vo 1.50 

DAKKELL  OF  THE  BLESSED  ISLES.  Ill'd.  PostSvo.  1.50 

VERGILIUS.    Post  8vo 1.35 

SILAS  STRONG.    Post  8vo 1.50 

HARPER  &  BROTHERS,   PUBLISHERS,  N.  Y. 


Copyright,  1909,  by  IRVING  BACHKI.LER. 


All  rights  reserved. 
Published  April,  1909. 


Colteae 
Library 

PS 

(054 


TO 

MY     DEAR      FRIEND 
E.     PRENTISS      BAILEY 


J . 


CONTENTS 


Book  One 

In  which  the  Adventures  of  Cricket  are  Presented,  with 
Some  Account  of  Him 

ADVENTURE  PAGE 

I.  BEING  THAT  OF  CRICKET  AND  THE  CHILD  GHOST         3 

II.  BEING  THAT  OF  CRICKET  AND  THE   PEARL  OF 

GREAT  PRICE 14 

III.  BEING  THAT  OF  THE  BUNGWOOD  Cow    ...       25 

IV.  BEING    THAT    OF    CRICKET    AND    THE    PURPLE 

GHOST 35 

V.  BEING  THAT  OF  CRICKET  AND  THE  HAND-MADE 

GENTLEMAN 45 

VI.  IN  WHICH  CRICKET  HAS  SUNDRY  EXPERIENCES       55 

VII.  WHICH  is  THAT  OF  CRICKET  AND  THE  LOVER 

AND  THE  POTATO-SACK 63 

VIII.  IN  WHICH  CRICKET   MEETS  THE  COLONEL  AND 

THE  YOUNG  Miss 73 

IX.  WHICH  DESCRIBES  THE  COERCION  OF  SAM  AND 

His  WEDDING  JOURNEY 87 

X.  WHICH  is  THE  ADVENTURE  OF  CRICKET  ON  THE 

HEMPEN  BRIDGE 96 

XI.  IN   WHICH  CRICKET   MEETS  THE   HAND-MADE 

GENTLEMAN    AND    THE    PEARL   OF    GREAT 
PRICE  .  106 


Contents 

Book  Two 

In  which   Cricket  Takes  the  Road  to  Manhood  and 
Meets  with  Sundry  Mishaps 

PAGE 

1™      IN  WHICH  CRICKET  COMES  TO  A  QUEER  STOP 
PING-PLACE   ON   THE   ROAD   TO   MANHOOD     137 

II.  WHICH  BRINGS  CRICKET  TO  THE  STATION   OF 

REMORSE J54 

III.  IN  WHICH  CRICKET  PROCEEDS  WITH  HEAVIER 

BAGGAGE 1<5x 

IV.  IN  WHICH  CRICKET  COMES  TO  A  TURN  IN  THE 

ROAD l67 

V.  IN    WHICH   CRICKET   MOUNTS   ONE    OF   GOD'S 

HORSES J73 

VI.  MY  LAST  WEEK  ON  THE  FLYING  HORSE     .     .     182 

VII.  IN  WHICH  MR.  HERON  ARRIVES  AT  THE  SHOP  OF 

THE  HAND-MADE  GENTLEMAN      .     .     .     .     188 

VIII.  IN   WHICH   YOUNG   MR.   HERON   COMES   TO   A 

TURN  IN  THE  ROAD 201 

IX.  IN  WHICH  WE  MEET  THE  CAPTAIN  OF  THE  NEW 

ARMY 210 

X.  WHICH  BRINGS  MR.  HERON  TO  A  HIGH  POINT 

IN  THE  ROAD 221 

Book  Three 

In  which  the  Youth  and  the  Hand-Made  Gentleman 
See  and  Do  Some  Wonderful  Things 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  THE  SINGULAR  BEGINNING  OF  A  NEW  CAREER     231 

II.  IN    WHICH    PEARL'S    OLD    MARE    BEGINS    TO 

HURRY  Us  ALONG 237 


Contents 


CHAPTER 

III.      THE  GENTLEMAN  DISCOVERS  A  NEW  KIND  OF 


POWER 


247 


IV.  IN  WHICH  WE  MEET  Two  GREAT  MEN     .     .     .  258 

V.  THE  FIRST  THROUGH  CARS,  AND  THEIR  BURDEN 

AND  BAPTISM 269 

VI.  THE  FIRST  BATTLE  OF  PEACE 274 

VII.  MCCARTHY'S  FIRST  BATTLE  WITH  SATAN     .     .  281 

VIII.  IN  WHICH  WE  TAKE  SUPPER  WITH  THE  P'IRST 

C^SAR    OF    THE    CORPORATIONS       ....  2QO 

IX.  THE  SECOND  BATTLE  OF  PEACE 298 

X.  THE  CONTINUATION  OF  THE  BATTLE  ....  305 

XI.  AN   UNEXPECTED   MEETING   OF   OLD   FRIENDS  312 

XII.  THE  STORY  OF  AN  UNSUSPECTED  HERO     .     .  323 

XIII.  PEACE 326 


Foreword 


THIS  is  a  tale  of  youth  —  of  its  loves  and 
dreams  and  hazards,  and  of  the  incredible 
riches  of  purity  which  often  belong  to  it. 

Many  of  the  adventures  which  led  to  the 
Hand-Made  Gentleman  and  the  shop  at  Rush- 
water  are  from  the  author's  own  experience. 
Pearl  is  a  composite  of  Davenport  (the  country 
blacksmith  who  invented  an  electric  motor  in 
1833)  and  of  a  certain  modest  veteran  of  north 
ern  New  York. 

It  tells  how  steam-power  chose  its  first  long 
pathway  and  began  its  swift  errands  from  the 
Atlantic  to  the  middle  continent;  how  the  roar 
and  rush  of  the  water-floods  betrayed  their 
secret  and  suggested  the  coming  of  great  things; 
how  "the  horses  of  the  river"  began  to  tread 
the  turbine  and  yield  their  power  to  man;  how 
the  spirit  of  new  enterprise  contended  with  con 
servatism,  ignorance,  and  greed  in  the  capitals, 
and  how,  thereby,  evils  developed  which  we  are 
now  striving  to  correct. 


Foreword 

For  its  background  of  railroad  and  political 
history  the  author  is  indebted  to  many  for 
gotten  records,  and  to  his  friends  A.  Barton 
Hepburn,  William  C.  Hudson,  Arthur  D.  Chand 
ler,  and  Mark  D.  Wilber,  an  honored  Assembly 
man  in  the  sessions  of  1865,  1866,  and  1867, 
and  later  United  States  District  Attorney.  For 
the  color  of  the  day  in  Pittsburg,  at  the  close 
of  the  war,  he  is  under  obligation  to  Mr.  Andrew 
Carnegie;  for  that  of  Black  Friday,  to  Mr. 
Thomas  A.  Edison. 

The  author  has  held  to  no  strict  observance 
of  the  unity  of  place,  the  work  of  his  characters 
being  that  of  turning  the  State  into  one  neigh 
borhood. 


Book    One 

In     which     the    Adventures     of    Cricket    are 
Presented,  with  Some  Account  of  Him 


The  Hand-Made  Gentleman 

A  Tale  of  the  Battles  of  Peace 


ADVENTURE  I 

BEING  THAT  OP  CRICKET  AND  THE  CHILD  GHOST 

WAS  born  in  1843.  Since  then  I 
have  endured  many  perils,  of  which 
I  shall  try  to  tell  you.  First  of  all, 
there  was  the  peril  of  being  named 
Solomon ;  and  it  would  appear  that, 
for  a  day  or  two,  I  was  threatened  also  with  the 
name  of  Zephaniah,  but  escaped  at  last  with  the 
lighter  penalty  of  Jacob. 

When  I  found  myself  I  had  just  printed  my 
full  name  in  big  letters  on  a  slate — Jacob  Ezra 
Heron.  I  have  had  some  success,  but — bless 
you ! — it  is  poverty  when  I  think  of  the  sense  of 
riches  that  I  had  that  day.  I  will  try  to  give 
only  the  merest  outline  of  my  chief  assets,  and 

3 


The   Hand-Made    Gentleman 

they  were:  this  name,  which  was  all  my  own; 
a  mother,  who  was  the  joint  possession  of  my 
self  and  my  sister,  four  years  older  than  I ;  one 
friend  of  the  name  of  Lizzie  McCormick,  and  one 
little  green  book  which  was  a  legacy  from  my 
grandmother.  I  had  practically  no  liabilities 
save  a  number  of  unpunished  sins. 

Now,  a  little  as  to  my  schedule  of  assets. 
First  of  all,  there  is  the  boy  indicated  by  the 
name  on  my  slate — a  small  boy  five  years  old. 
I  was  in  the  little  red  school-housei  My  eyes 
were  not  much  above  the  level  of  my  reading- 
book  that  rested  on  the  teacher's  knee.  The 
watch  at  her  belt  seemed  to  prattle  in  my  ear 
as  if  to  put  me  out,  and,  when  she  opened  the 
hateful  thing,  I  felt  sure  it  complained  of  me, 
for  immediately  she  grew  impatient.  I  was 
afraid,  and  spoke  scarcely  any  louder  than  the 
watch  itself.  I  feared  that  somebody  would  do 
something  to  me,  and  I  had  three  occupations — 
looking  out  for  danger,  drawing  cats,  and  print 
ing  my  name  on  a  slate. 

Every  evening  I  used  to  sit  by  the  fireside  in 
my  little  chair  and  rock  and  sing.  My  mother 
called  me  Cricket,  because  I  was  small  and  spry 
and  cheerful.  Others  called  me  Cricket  because 
she  did. 

Now,  an  important  item  in  the  schedule  is  my 
4 


Cricket    and    the    Child   Ghost 

friend  and  confidant,  Lizzie  McCormick.  She  was 
one  of  the  most  remarkable  things  that  ever 
was,  being  much  and  yet  nothing.  She  was  a 
myth — a  creation  of  my  fancy — but  almost  as 
real  as  any  of  you  sitting  here.  There  was  a 
drunken  old  bachelor  of  the  name  of  McCormick 
who  lived  not  far  away,  and  Lizzie  claimed  that 
she  was  his  girl.  I  made  her  acquaintance  one 
day  when  I  had  been  very  bad  and  was  shut 
in  my  room  alone.  She  sprang  out  of  the  air 
suddenly,  and  sat  down  beside  me  on  the  rag 
carpet,  and  made  a  gulping  sound — like  that  of 
"a  hen  with  the  pip,"  as  our  washerwoman  said 
when  I  tried  to  make  the  sound  for  her.  Lizzie 
was  a  freckled  girl  with  red  hair  and  a  very  long 
neck,  and  gold  teeth  and  a  wooden  leg,  because 
she  had  been  shot  in  the  war. 

We  played  marbles  together,  and  talked  freely 
in  a  tongue  so  "foreign"  that  no  human  being 
could  understand  it,  as  my  mother  informed  me 
later.  She  showed  me  her  trinkets,  and  among 
them  was  a  thing  she  called  "a  silver  horruck," 
which  Santa  Claus  had  brought  to  her — a  shiny 
thing  that  looked  like  a  goose's  leg.  She  was 
with  me  a  good  deal  after  that,  and  always' 
slept  with  me  in  my  trundle-bed.  In  due  time 
she  began  to  do  and  say  things  for  which  I 
was  held  responsible,  and  eventually  became  a 

5 


The    Hand-Made    Gentleman 

ghost,  when  I  would  have  no  more  to  do  with 
her. 

You  will  remember  I  spoke  of  the  little  green 
book.  It  was  kept  in  a  high  drawer.  Often  I 
begged  for  a  look  at  it,  and  when  my  mother 
opened  the  drawer  I  was  on  my  tiptoes  and 
reaching  for  the  sacred  thing.  When  I  had 
looked  at  the  pictures  she  put  it  away  again  very 
tenderly. 

Well,  that  is  about  as  things  stood  with  me  in 
my  childhood.  I  have  given  you  a  core  out  of 
the  bed-rock,  and  let  it  go  at  that — saving  one 
circumstance.  It  will  all  help  you  to  understand 
me. 

I  come  now  to  the  true  tales,  which  are  better 
for  the  fireside,  on  a  white  Christmas,  than  all 
that  kind  of  thing.  First,  I  shall  tell  you  the 
very  brief  adventure  of 

CRICKET  AND  THE  CHILD  GHOST 

Go  back  with  me  to  the  winter  of  1850,  when 
hard  times  travelled  over  the  land  like  a  pesti 
lence,  and  even  entered  the  houses  of  the  great. 
I  was  in  my  seventh  year,  and  my  assets  had 
been  largely  increased  by  the  steady  friendship  of 
Santa  Claus.  But  he  was  going  to  pass  me 
that  year,  the  times  being  harder  for  him  than 

6 


Cricket   and   the    Child    Ghost 

for  other  people.  I  felt  sorry  for  him,  and  sorry 
for  my  sister  and  mother,  and  sorry,  too,  for 
myself. 

Well,  it  was  the  day  before  Christmas,  and  I 
had  been  to  school  and  was  on  my  way  home 
alone,  my  sister  being  ill,  and  night  was  near. 
Suddenly  I  became  aware  that  Lizzie  McCormick 
was  limping  along  beside  me. 

"It  don't  pay  to  be  good,"  said  she,  im 
patiently. 

"I've  been  very  good  for  a  long,  long  time," 
I  answered.  "I've  filled  the  wood-box  every 
night  an'  morning,  an'  I  gave  half  my  candy  to 
Sarah.  I  guess  God  was  surprised." 

"So  was  Sarah,"  she  answered,  as  I  recalled 
the  delight  of  my  sister. 

I  thought  a  moment  and  then  said,  "God 
loves  me." 

"Why  don't  he  give  you  a  pair  of  new  boots, 
then?" 

"It's  hard  times." 

"He  gives  'em  to  some  children." 

I  felt  of  the  treasure,  which  I  had  concealed  in 
my  pocket,  and  wondered  whether,  under  the 
circumstances,  I  had  better  let  it  go.  I  tried 
to  take  a  look  at  it,  but  the  air  was  dusky  and 
I  could  not  see. 

"Come  on!"  Lizzie  called,  swinging  her  wood- 
7 


The    Hand-Made   Gentleman 

en  leg  very  fast  and  keeping  ahead  of  me.  "I 
ain't  going  home.  I'm  going  to  see  if  I  can  find 
Santa  Glaus." 

"So  'm  I,"  was  my  answer.  "Maybe  he'll 
give  us  a  ride." 

We  hurried  along  without  speaking  until  I 
saw  how  dark  it  was,  and  knew  that  we  were 
a  long  way  from  home. 

" My  mother  will  be  looking  for  me!"  I  called, 
with  a  little  sob. 

Lizzie  stopped  and  again  made  a  sound  like 
that  of  a  hen  with  the  pip,  and  I  knew  it  to  be  a 
token  of  her  contempt  for  me. 

"I  don't  believe  there  is  any  Santa  Claus," 
she  remarked,  presently. 

I  had  been  thinking  of  that.  The  faith  of 
my  childhood  was  failing  a  little,  but  I  clung 
to  the  dear  old  saint  and  could  not  let 
him  go.  However,  I  was  on  the  brink  of 
change. 

In  a  moment  Lizzie  put  her  hand  in  my  coat- 
pocket. 

"There,"  said  she,  "see  what  you've  got  now." 

I  felt,  and  upon  my  word  there  was  some 
thing  hard  in  my  pocket  wrapped  in  tissue- 
paper,  and  it  felt  very  promising. 

"It's  a  real  horruck,"  said  she;  "I  am  going 
to  give  it  to  you." 

8 


Cricket   and   the    Child   Ghost 

Then  I  saw  her  hand  moving  before  my  face. 
I  put  up  my  own  hand,  but  hers  began  to  fly 
around  in  the  air,  and  I  could  not  touch  it. 
Now  I  suddenly  remembered  that  ghosts  had  a 
trick  of  that  kind,  for  so  the  washerwoman  had 
informed  me.  For  the  first  time  I  began  to 
think  of  the  word,  and  felt  its  mystery.  Lizzie 
stood  shivering,  and  a  sound  came  out  of  her 
mouth  like  wind  whistling  in  a  chimney. 

"You  go  'way!"  I  cried,  in  a  fright. 

Lizzie  turned  and  looked  at  me  and  uttered  a 
cry  of  fear,  and  began  to  run.  Her  clothes  had 
a  strange  rustle,  and  I  could  scarcely  see  her  in 
the  darkness.  She  seemed  to  run  up  a  stairway 
into  the  snowy  air,  and  was  out  of  sight  in  a 
jiffy.  Then  I  could  hear  her  screaming  to  me 
in  a  dark  tree -top,  as  if  she  saw  something 
terrible. 

"Look  out,  Cricket!     Look  out!     Look  out!" 

I  was  in  a  panic  of  fear,  knowing  not  the  peril 
that  threatened  me.  I  struggled  through  the 
drifts  and  ran  till  I  could  see  the  lights  of 
the  village.  The  sight  allayed  my  fear  a 
little. 

I  had  heard  that  hymn-singing  was  good  in 
time  of  peril,  and  I  began  to  walk  and  sing,  with 
a  trembling  voice,  the  Christmas  hymn  which  my 
mother  had  lately  taught  me. 

9 


The    Hand-Made    Gentleman 

Soon  I  knelt  for  a  moment  in  the  snow  and 
said  my  prayers.  Then  I  rose  and  ran  on,  sing 
ing  as  I  went,  and  thought  less  of  my  peril. 
Soon  teams  began  to  pass  me,  coming  and  going, 
and  my  fear  was  gone. 

I  felt  for  my  horruck.  It  was  in  my  pocket, 
all  right,  and  the  feel  of  it  began  to  fill  me  with 
wonder.  I  forgot  it  when  I  came  to  one  of  the 
stores,  and  entered  behind  the  legs  of  a  tall  man, 
and  stopped  before  a  basket  of  oranges,  and 
stood  looking  down  at  them.  There  were  a 
number  of  people  in  the  store. 

"Would  you  like  one?"  a  man  asked  me. 

"I— I  haven't  any  money,"  was  my  answer. 

' '  Put  one  in  your  pocket, ' '  he  whispered ; ' '  they 
wouldn't  know." 

I  shook  my  head,  and  answered  in  a  voice  so 
low  that  he  held  his  ear  down  to  catch  the 
words : 

"It  doesn't  belong  to  me." 

He  lifted  me  in  his  arms  and  asked  my  name, 
and  I  gave  it,  and  told  him  that  I  was  out  look 
ing  for  Santa  Glaus. 

"Isn't  he  coming  to  your  house?"  the  man 
asked. 

I  shook  my  head. 

"Why  not?" 

'"Cause  it's  hard  times,"  I  whispered. 

10 


Cricket    and    the    Child   Ghost 

Well,  it  was  the  storekeeper  himself,  and  he 
kissed  me  and  sat  me  on  the  counter  and  gave 
me  fruits  and  candies. 

"Would  you  like  to  speak  to  Santa  Glaus?" 
he  asked. 

I  nodded,  and  my  heart  began  to  beat  all  the 
faster. 

He  went  to  the  rear  end  of  the  store  and  re 
turned  quickly  with  a  stout,  gray -headed  man 
in  a  big  fur  overcoat.  I  recognized  the  figure, 
and  was  almost  overcome  with  emotion.  The 
thought  of  my  mission  bore  me  up.  With  a 
trembling  hand  I  took  from  my  pocket  the  little 
green  book  which  my  grandmother  had  given  to 
me,  and  wrhich  was,  indeed,  my  greatest  treas 
ure.  I  had  removed  it  slyly  from  the  bureau 
drawer  that  morning.  I  held  it  toward  him. 
No  human  being  ever  offered  more  to  charity. 

"That's  a  Christmas  present  for  you,"  I  said, 
fearfully. 

He  took  my  little  book,  and  read  the  title  on 
its  green  paper  cover  aloud. 

I  spoke  up  faintly  as  soon  as  he  had  finished, 
saying,  "My  grandmother  gave  it  to  me — you 
can  have  it." 

"Thanks,"  said  he,  and  laughed,  which  so 
took  me  down  that  I  could  not  keep  back  my 
tears. 

ii 


The    Hand-Made    Gentleman 

"Are  you  a  good  boy?"  he  asked. 

"He's  one  of  the  best  boys  in  the  county,  and 
I'm  going  to  keep  track  of  him,"  said  the  store 
keeper,  and  I  was  glad,  for  I  was  not  able 
to  answer. 

"Now,"  said  he  to  Santa  Glaus,  "I  want  you 
to  take  him  home  and  give  them  all  a  merry 
Christmas." 

Well,  they  put  a  little  fur  coat  upon  me  and  a 
piece  of  goat-skin  for  a  beard,  and  a  baby  pack- 
basket,  and  filled  it  with  grand  things  for  my 
mother  and  sister,  and  put  a  stub  of  a  pipe  in 
my  mouth. 

The  man  took  me  home,  and  I  was  forgiv 
en,  I  fancy,  on  account  of  my  looks,  for  who 
could  punish  a  fairy  Santa  Claus?  And,  all 
in  all,  what  a  merry  Christmas  we  had!  I 
had  exchanged  the  little  green  book  for 
something  better,  of  which  I  shall  try  to  tell 
you. 

As  to  Lizzie  McCormick,  she  remained  a  ghost, 
and  probably  found  better  company,  for  I  never 
saw  her  again,  although  sometimes  I  have  heard 
her  whisper  in  the  darkness.  She  taught  me 
that  ghosts  are  easily  conquered  if  a  boy  will  be 
stern  with  them. 

But  there  remains  with  me  a  strange  souvenir 
of  our  parting,  and  that  is  the  horruck.  It  was 

12 


Cricket   and   the   Child   Ghost 

a  real  thing;  I  have  it  now,  a  big  silver  dollar. 
Here  it  is.  Look  at  the  odd  device  stamped  on 
the  face  of  the  coin : 


I  assure  you,  for  many  a  long  year  it  was  the 
great  mystery  of  our  house.  And  I  got  a  certain 
fear  of  it  by-and-by,  knowing,  as  I  did,  that  a 
ghost  gave  it  to  me. 


ADVENTURE  II 


BEING  THAT  OF  CRICKET  AND  THE  PEARL  OP 
GREAT  PRICE 

Y  home  had  been  a  grist-mill  in 
old  times,  and  stood  on  the  river- 
shore  near  a  small  village.  One 
side  of  it  was  in  the  stream,  but 
firmly  founded  on  a  ledge,  and 
the  year  round  water  roared  through  a  part  of 
the  basement.  A  hanging  stairway  climbed  the 
face  of  the  mill  to  a  narrow  landing  under  its 
eaves.  There  a  broad  door  with  a  clanking 
iron  latch  opened  upon  our  home.  Those  days 
it  was  called  the  Mill  House,  and  a  pretty  thing 
it  was — weathered  gray,  with  broad  windows 
that  had  small  panes  in  them,  and  vines  and 
flowers  on  the  ledges  in  summer-time,  and  honey 
suckle  on  the  stair  side. 

When  I  look  back  at  the  old  house  the  sun  is 
ever  shining  on  it  and  the  flowers  are  in  full 
bloom,  and  I  can  see  the  lights  and  shadows  of 
the  river.  It  was  a  full  flowing  stream,  smooth 

14 


Cricket    and    the    Pearl   of  Great    Price 

and  silent  above  the  mill,  and  stained  and 
sprinkled  with  willow  gloom;  white  and  noisy 
just  below,  where  the  waters  hurtled  over  a 
natural  dam  of  rocks.  It  put  me  in  mind  of 
the  sea,  toward  which  it  was  ever  flowing,  and 
which  I  had  studied  with  a  curious  eye  in  my 
geography.  The  river  always  seemed  to  invite 
me  to  go  along  with  it. 

Well,  one  day,  when  near  the  end  of  my 
fifteenth  year,  I  accepted  its  invitation — launch 
ed  my  new  canoe  and  went  away  with  the  swift 
water.  It  was  a  clear,  warm  day,  and  the  river 
gave  me  rare  entertainment,  with  its  reeds  and 
wild  roses  and  quiet  little  bays  and  green,  sloping 
terraces,  and  birds  and  beasts.  Where  it  bent 
to  the  edge  of  the  highway  I  saw  a  man  sitting 
on  the  bank — a  lank,  tall  man,  with  white  hair 
and  a  full,  gray  beard.  A  black  setter  dog  with 
tan  points  sat  beside  him. 

''Happy  new  year!"  said  the  man. 

I  made  no  answer,  but  swung  into  the  bay  near 
him  and  stopped. 

"Didn't  you  know  that  a  new  year  begins 
every  day?"  he  asked.  He  showed  the  wear  of 
hard  times.  He  had  a  shoe  on  one  foot  and  a 
slipper  on  the  other,  and  wore  a  soiled  linen 
duster  and  a  pair  of  goggles.  I  saw  now  that 
his  face  had  been  badly  scarred.  He  had  a  nose 


The    Hand-Made    Gentleman 

large  at  the  end,  with  white  and  red  seams  in  it, 
which  cut  across  the  cheek  to  his  temple  on  one 
side. 

"I  can  tell  you  something  almighty  singular," 
he  went  on. 

"What's  that?"  was  my  query. 

He  took  off  a  shabby  felt  hat,  spat  into  the 
river,  and  drew  his  hand  across  his  mouth. 

"My  name  is  Pearl,"  said  he;  "I  am  the  Pearl 
o'  great  price." 

I  smiled,  but  he  looked  very  serious. 

"I  am  weary  o'  life,"  he  continued.  "I  came 
down  to  this  river  to  drown  myself,  but  I  am 
unable  to  do  it  on  account  o'  my  meanness.  It's 
a  pity." 

I  waited,  full  of  curiosity,  while  he  sat  and 
whittled. 

"My  life  is  insured — that's  what's  the  matter," 
he  went  on.  "You  see,  I  took  out  a  policy  years 
ago  an'  paid  for  it,  an'  an'  ol'  buzzard  got  it  for 
a  few  dollars  that  I  owed  him.  If  I  die  the 
meanest  man  in  the  world  '11  git  a  thousand 
dollars,  an'  it  won't  do;  come  to  think  it  over, 
I '  ve  got  to  outlive  him  if  it  takes  a  hundred  years. ' ' 

He  threw  his  slippered  foot  over  his  knee, 
laughed  silently,  and  shook  his  head. 

"That's  one  on  me,"  he  remarked.  "It  ain't 
decent  for  me  to  laugh,  but  I  can't  help  it." 

16 


Cricket   and   the   Pearl    of  Great    Price 

"Are  you  sick?"  I  asked. 

"Not  exac'ly  sick,"  he  answered.  "When  I 
behave  myself  I  wouldn't  know  that  I  had  a 
body  if  it  wasn't  for  my  big  toe  that  keeps 
peekin'  through  my  shoe  leather.  Sometimes  it 
makes  a  bow,  very  p'lite,  an'  says, '  Hello,  there!'  " 

He  rose  and  took  off  his  hat.  "Look  at  me — 
ain't  I  a  gem?"  he  added. 

"I'm  sorry  for  you,"  I  suggested. 

"That's  good!  I'm  tired  o'  bein'  sorry  for 
myself,  an'  glad  to  have  some  one  'tend  to  that 
part  o'  my  business." 

He  called  the  dog  to  his  feet,  put  a  hand  on 
his  head,  and  introduced  him  in  this  manner: 

"This  is  my  friend  and  fellow-citizen,  Mr. 
Barker — Adam  Barker  bein'  his  full  name.  You 
see  before  you  the  firm  of  Pearl  &  Company." 

I  smiled,  and  thought  him  an  odd  man. 

"Mr.  Barker,  please  take  the  floor,"  he 
commanded. 

The  dog  stood  on  his  hind  feet  with  a  look  of 
eager  expectancy. 

"Mr.  Barker,  I  swear  to  you  that  hereafter 
I  will  be  worthy  of  your  love,"  said  the  stranger. 
"Shall  the  firm  continue?  Those  in  favor  will 
please  say  aye." 

The  dog  gave  a  bark,  and  his  master  said: 
"It  seems  to  be  carried;  it  is  carried.  Is 

17 


The    Hand-Made    Gentleman 

there  any  further  business  to  come  before  this 
meetin'?" 

Mr.  Barker  answered. 

"Then  we  stand  adjourned,"  said  the  man, 
whereupon  the  dog  began  to  jump  playfully. 
"Pearl  &  Company  are  now  ready  to  resume 
business." 

Man  and  dog  sat  looking  at  me. 

"We  can  do  anything,"  he  went  on.  "Bring 
us  a  pig's  tail  an'  we'll  make  a  whistle  of  it;  bring 
us  a  ton  of  iron  an'  we'll  build  a  steam-engine. 
I  put  in  the  skill  an'  labor,  an'  Mr.  Barker  fur 
nishes  the  company.  Got  to  have  that  in  every 
kind  o'  business." 

I  made  no  answer,  but  sat  looking  at  this  won 
derful  man. 

"Where  ye  goin'  ?"  he  asked. 

"Down  the  river." 

"So  'm  I,"  said  he.  "Give  me  the  stern  seat 
an'  I'll  furnish  the  power.  If  you're  goin'  to  be 
sorry  for  me,  you'll  have  enough  to  do." 

I  swung  her  stern  to  the  shore  and  let  them  in. 
He  took  the  paddle,  and  the  dog  a  place  be 
tween  us. 

"Handsome  little  river — this  here,"  said  my 
new  friend,  as  he  cut  the  ripples  with  a  powerful 
stroke.  "Think  o'  the  strength  of  her,"  he  went 
on  presently;  "she  keeps  a-pushin'  night  an'  day. 

18 


Cricket   and   the  Pearl   of  Great    Price 

The  power  of  a  thousand  horses  couldn't  hold 
her  for  a  second.  If  she  only  had  brains  she 
could  do  half  the  work  o'  the  county."  After 
a  moment's  silence,  he  added:  "If  somebody 
would  go  into  partnership  with  her  and  put  up 
brains  against  her  strength,  the  firm  would  do 
wonders." 

That  view  of  the  river  was  new  to  me. 

' '  Did  you  ever  see  Niagara  Falls  ?"  the  stranger 
asked. 

"No." 

"You  must  go  and  see  that  big  water-hammer 
hit  the  side  o'  the  world.  It  weighs  a  million 
tons  or  more,  an'  swings  a  hundred  an'  fifty  feet, 
an'  for  a  dozen  miles  you  can  hear  the  boom  of  it. 
Think  o'  the  power  in  that  blow.  One  o'  these 
days  it's  goin'  to  help  push  us  along  an'  kick  a 
lot  o'  things  out  of  our  way.  Down  below,  the 
rapids  run  like  wild  horses.  I  call  'em  God's 
horses.  One  o'  these  days  they'll  put  'em  on  the 
tread." 

"On  the  tread!"  I  exclaimed. 

"Yes;  every  one  of  'em  '11  tread  a  turbine  an' 
move  a  belt,  an'  then — "  He  paused  and  spat 
over  the  gunwale,  and  I  looked  at  him  full  of 
wonder.  "'Lectricity!"  he  exclaimed;  "streams 
and  rivers  o'  lightnin'!" 

His  words  impressed  me  deeply,  but  I  did  not 


The   Hand-Made    Gentleman 

fully  comprehend  them  until  more  familiar  with 
his  habit  of  putting  his  thought  into  terms  of 
power.  But  I  thought  often  of  the  "big  water- 
hammer  "  and  of  "God's  horses." 

"Look  at  the  fish,"  he  said,  after  a  moment 
of  impressive  silence.  "One  of  'em  just  looked 
up  an'  winked  at  me  real  insultin'.  I  don' 
know  but  we'd  better  get  offended  an'  go  after 
'em." 

"No  tackle,"  was  my  answer. 

"  We'll  make  some,"  said  he,  promptly.  "  We're 
goin'  to  be  hungry  by-an'-by." 

He  went  ashore,  stripped  some  bark  off  a  wil 
low,  split  it  into  strands,  and  began  to  braid  them. 
In  a  few  moments  he  had  made  a  fairly  good  line, 
and  tied  it  to  the  end  of  a  pole. 

"Will  you  have  a  snare  or  a  hook?"  he  asked. 
"I  can  make  ary  one." 

"A  snare,"  I  answered,  for  I  had  never  seen  a 
snare. 

He  removed  a  piece  of  wire  from  the  anchor- 
ring,  made  a  loop,  and  fastened  the  line  upon  it. 

"Now  slip  that  over  their  noses  an'  jerk,"  he 
said,  as  he  passed  the  pole  to  me. 

He  worked  the  paddle  and  I  the  pole,  and  soon 
we  had  half  a  dozen  fish,  and  quite  enough  for  a 
meal. 

"It's  time  that  we  organized  for  dinner,"  said 

20 


Cricket   and    the    Pearl   of  Great   Price 

he.  "I'll  be  the  cook  if  you'll  be  the  com 
missary." 

"All  right,"  I  answered. 

"Do  not  be  surprised  if  you  find  salt  an'  pepper 
in  yon  farm-house,"  he  suggested. 

I  went  to  the  house  indicated,  which  was  not  a 
stone's- throw  from  the  river-bank,  and  there  a 
woman  gave  me  all  I  sought,  and,  when  she  had 
learned  my  name,  added  butter  and  half  a  loaf 
of  bread  and  a  bit  of  shortcake. 

"You  are  promoted  for  meritorious  conduct," 
said  the  Pearl,  on  my  return.  "You  are  ap 
pointed  corporal  of  the  guard,  and  will  have 
nothing  to  do  now  but  keep  the  cows  out  o'  camp." 

He  had  built  his  fire  in  a  grove  that  flung  its 
shade  over  a  bit  of  still  water.  There  a  number 
of  cattle  had  gathered,  and  were  gazing  at  us. 
Soon  a  bull  came  roaring  into  camp,  and  stood 
and  pawed  the  earth  and  threatened  me.  I  cut 
him  with  a  beech-rod,  and  drove  him  away. 

"You  are  promoted  for  bravery,"  said  the 
Pearl  of  great  price;  "I  appoint  you  my  friend 
for  life." 

He  gave  me  his  hand,  and  I  looked  up  at  him 
with  amusement. 

"Do  you  accept  the  appointment?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  I  answered,  for  I  was  delighted 
with  my  new  acquaintance. 

21 


The   Hand-Made    Gentleman 

"Good!"  said  he,  "and  I  promise,  boy,  that 
H.  M.  Pearl,  Esquire,  will  never  bring  the  blush 
of  shame  to  your  cheek,  and  I  am  yours  truly, 
now  an'  forever — one  an'  inseparable."  In  a 
moment  he  added:  "I  ain't  pretty,  but  I  can  be 
decent,  you  see." 

I  enjoyed  him  more  than  the  dinner,  and  we 
made  a  wonderful  day  of  it.  After  an  hour's 
rest  we  set  out  again,  and  near  three  o'clock 
landed  at  the  little  village  of  Mill  Pond,  some 
ten  miles  away.  From  the  shore  I  could  see  on 
a  store-front  the  sign 

SAM  WEATHERBY'S   EMPORIUM 

A  man  stood  on  the  steps  of  the  emporium 
looking  at  us. 

"Well,  Pearl,  is  that  you?"  he  exclaimed  as 
we  drew  near. 

"It's  me,  but  it  ain't  Pearl,"  my  friend  an 
swered. 

"How's  that?" 

"Turned  over  a  new  leaf.  The  late  H.  M. 
Pearl  is  now  H.  M.  Pearl,  Esquire.  This  is  my 
friend.  His  name  is — ' 

"Heron,"  I  said. 

"Not  Cricket  Heron?"  the  stranger  asked. 

I  nodded. 

22 


Cricket    and   the    Pearl    of  Great    Price 

"Don't  you  remember  coming  to  my  store  at 
Heartsdale  one  Christmas  eve?" 

"And  you  said  you  would  keep  track  of  me?" 

"Yes.  I  moved  down  the  river  long  ago,  and 
I've  been  thinking  for  a  month  that  I  would  go 
and  have  a  talk  with  you  and  your  mother.  I 
want  a  clerk,  and  if  you  wish  to  learn  a  good 
business  I'll  take  you  in." 

Well,  he  showed  me  through  the  store,  and  I 
was  much  elated,  and  told  about  the  child  ghost 
and  all  the  details  of  my  straying  that  Christmas 
eve,  and  showed  them  my  horruck,  and  Mr.  Pearl 
sat  down  to  study  it. 

"I  shall  have  to  go,"  I  said,  as  he  reluctantly 
surrendered  the  coin;  "good-bye." 

"Not  now,"  he  answered.  "It's  a  hard  pull 
against  the  current,  an'  I'm  goin'  to  take  you 
home.  You  wouldn't  get  there  till  to-morrow 
mornin.'  ' 

Well,  he  would  go  with  me,  and  so  we  set  out 
together — the  Pearl  having  left  his  dog  with 
Mr.  Weatherby.  As  we  made  our  way  up 
stream  he  told  me  tales  full  of  the  oddest 
fancies. 

By-and-by  it  grew  dark,  and  I  could  hear  only 
the  dip  of  his  paddle  and  water  washing  on  the 
bow. 

"Say,"  he  exclaimed,  suddenly,  "that's  an 
23 


The    Hand-Made    Gentleman 

awful  curious  riddle  that  you've  got  in  your 
pocket  there." 

"What  do  you  make  of  it?"  I  asked. 

He  seemed  not  to  hear  me,  but  continued  to 
work  his  paddle  in  silence  until  we  got  out  be 
low  the  Mill  House. 

"Did  you  ever  hear  of  the  ghost  riddles?"  he 
asked,  presently. 

"No." 

"Well,  I  wouldn't  wonder  if  it  was  one  of 
'em." 

"What  are  the  ghost  riddles?"  I  asked. 

"I'll  tell  you  some  time;  my  sister  had  one 
give  to  her,"  he  said,  as  he  started  down  the 
river. 

"I  want  you  to  stay  all  night  with  us!"  I  called. 
But  I  could  hear  only  the  sound  of  his  feet  on 
the  gravel  as  they  hurried  away. 


ADVENTURE  III 

BEING   THAT   OP   THE    BUNGWOOD   COW 

HAT  week  my  clerkship  began 
with  Mr.  Weatherby.  To  my 
great  disappointment  "the  Pearl 
of  great  price"  had  left  the  vil 
lage  of  Mill  Pond,  having  gone 
nobody  knew  where. 

It  was  my  duty  to  sweep  the  floor  and  clean 
the  windows,  pump  the  kerosene,  draw  the  West 
India  molasses,  and,  when  not  otherwise  em 
ployed,  to  sell  tea,  candy,  and  tobacco.  The 
kerosene  department  took  most  of  my  time. 

Of  course,  I  was  in  love  with  a  girl  much  older 
than  I,  but  the  odor  of  petroleum,  which,  in  spite 
of  soap  and  water,  maintained  its  hold  upon  me 
day  and  night,  gave  me  the  feeling  of  a  tethered 
dog.  Hope  would  not  live  with  it,  somehow.  Then 
my  face  itself  was  so  innocent  of  beard,  beauty, 
or  manliness.  The  little  mirror  which  hung  in 
a  corner  of  the  store  flung  back  at  me,  always, 
a  look  of  sheer  contempt.  One  day,  when  I  was 

25 


The   Hand-Made    Gentleman 

alone,  I  took  a  store  razor  and  began  my  first 
shave.  As  I  went  on,  my  face  seemed  to  be 
enlarging  and  taking  a  highly  serious  view  of 
itself.  I  stood  by  the  mirror  feeling  it.  As  I 
did  so,  secret  and  burning  thoughts  began  to 
move  my  tongue.  Unconsciously  I  was  talking 
to  myself  when  I  heard  a  loud  guffaw.  It  was 
Bony  Squares,  lately  returned  from  a  far  city 
to  his  home  at  Mill  Pond.  He  was  a  printer  who 
had  travelled  much,  and  could  box  and  play 
ball  and  keep  a  crowd  roaring  on  the  store-steps 
every  Saturday  night.  Moreover,  he  wore  boiled 
shirts,  and  collars  cut  very  low,  and  wonderful 
neckties  of  colored  silk,  and  had  a  smart  way 
with  him. 

"Ah,  ha!"  he  exclaimed,  "  you've  been  a-shav- 
ing  yerself !" 

I  smiled  and  blushed,  and  said  nothing. 

He  dropped  his  walking-stick  and  hopped 
over  it  two  or  three  times,  and  cackled,  "Ha, 
ha!  ho,  ho!  You're  going  to  have  a  mustache, 
and  then  you're  going  to  see  a  gal  by  the  name 
o'  Mary." 

It  seemed  as  if  ruin  stared  me  in  the  face. 

"Lend  me  two  dollars,"  Bony  Squares  de 
manded.  "Come,  be  quick  about,  it  or  I'll  tell 
on  ye — hope  t'  die  if  I  don't." 

It  was  to  me  a  large  sum,  for  my  income  was 
26 


The    Bimgwood   Cow 

only  four  dollars  and  twenty-five  cents  a  month. 
But  my  fear  of  ridicule  had  the  persuasiveness 
of  a  thumb-screw.  I  had  two  dollars  and  nine 
teen  cents  that  I  had  been  saving  for  the  fair  at 
Heartsdale.  With  great  solemnity  I  took  the 
two-dollar  bill  out  of  my  pocket  and  put  it  in 
the  hand  of  my  oppressor. 

"I'm  going  for  a  drive  to-night,"  he  said,  as 
he  took  the  money.  "It's  a  matter  of  business 
that  '11  pay  me  pretty  well,  and  I  may  need  some 
help.  Come  along,  and  I'll  pay  you  back  the 
money  I've  borrowed  and  a  dollar  besides." 

"Where  to?"  I  inquired. 

"Oh,  down  the  country  about  fifteen  miles. 
I'm  going  to  get  a  Bungwood  cow  for  a  friend 
o'  mine." 

"A  Bungwood  cow!"  I  exclaimed. 

"An  imported  breed,"  said  he,  "and  the  best 
in  the  world.  They're  frisky  and  a  little  dan 
gerous." 

That  seemed  to  me  rather  curious,  but,  then, 
I  did  not  know  much  about  cows.  It  was  a 
greater  compliment  than  I  had  ever  received — 
the  invitation  of  this  imperial  and  heroic  figure; 
but  I  concealed  my  joy  with  a  look  of  calmness. 

"When  are  you  coming  back?"  I  inquired. 

The  jaunty  fellow  crossed  the  floor,  rattling 
his  change  and  singing,  "Oh,  we  won't  go  home 

27 


The    Hand-Made    Gentleman 

till  morning!"  He  turned  quickly  and  said, 
with  a  sober  face:  "I'll  get  ye  here  in  good 
season.  Tell  'em  you're  going  to  stay  with  a 
friend,  an'  will  be  back  in  the  morning." 

I  lied  about  it,  for  I  knew  that  Mr.  Weatherby 
had  no  high  opinion  of  Bony  Squares,  and  got 
permission  to  go. 

At  seven  o'clock  that  evening  I  set  out  for 
the  corner  below  Mill  Pond,  where  Bony,  with 
a  horse  and  a  buckboard,  was  to  wait  for  me. 
There  he  was,  and  away  we  went ;  and  the  horse's 
hoofs  beat  time  for  a  lively  ditty  sung  by  my 
new  friend.  The  chill  night  fell,  and  a  sense  of 
sadness  and  regret  was  in  me.  To  what  place 
he  drove,  or  how  long  it  took  him  to  get  there, 
I  know  not  even  now.  After  a  long  time  I  fell 
asleep.  A  rude  shake  and  the  light  of  a  lantern 
awoke  me.  I  got  out  of  the  buggy  in  a  shed 
back  of  a  little  church. 

"Now  for  a  boat-ride,"  said  my  companion; 
"then  a  short  drive,  and  we'll  be  on  our  way 
home  again." 

"Where  you  going?" 

"After  the  cow,  of  course." 

I  followed  him  a  few  rods  to  the  shore  of  a 
great  river.  A  man  stood  in  a  boat  near  by,  as 
if  waiting  for  us.  I  had  never  seen  so  much 
water;  it  sped  and  shimmered  in  the  moonlight 

28 


The   Bungwood    Cow 

far  from  shore,  and  beyond  was  the  mystery  of 
the  night.  The  loud  voices  of  the  river  filled 
me  with  awe,  and  our  boat  creaked  and  swerved 
in  roaring  currents,  and  the  boatman  grew  weary 
with  his  struggle,  and  breathed  like  a  spent 
horse  by  and  by.  I  knew  it  was  the  St.  Law 
rence,  and  wondered  if  he  were  going  to  swim 
the  cow  through  its  whirlpools  and  rapids. 

We  landed  safely  by-and-by,  and  followed  the 
boatman  through  thick  woods.  There  was  a 
road  just  beyond  them  in  the  edge  of  the  open. 
We  turned  into  it,  and  a  moment's  walk  brought 
us  to  another  stage  in  the  mystery.  There, 
under  a  tree  by  the  roadside,  were  a  horse  and 
wagon.  For  half  a  moment  Bony  stood  whis 
pering  to  the  boatman.  Then,  turning  quickly, 
he  said,  "Jump  in — we've  no  time  to  lose." 

He  leaped  to  the  seat  beside  me,  gave  the  horse 
a  cut,  and  we  sped  away  on  a  road  which  he 
seemed  to  know.  We  drove  for  half  an  hour  or  so, 
and  drew  up  at  a  large  building.  A  lighted  can 
dle  was  burning  in  a  window  near  the  front  door. 

Bony  got  out  of  the  wagon. 

1 '  Let  me  take  your  watch, ' '  he  whispered.  ' '  I 
want  to  keep  track  o'  the  time.  We  haven't  long 
to  stay  here." 

I  handed  him  the  gold  watch  and  chain  which 
had  belonged  to  my  father,  and  which  I  was  per- 

29 


The    Hand-Made    Gentleman 

mitted  to  wear.  They  were  to  me  precious  above 
all  value.  I  had  some  misgivings,  but  who  could 
resist  Bony  Squares? 

He  fastened  the  chain  upon  his  waistcoat, 
mounted  the  steps,  rapped,  and  was  soon  ad 
mitted.  Presently  a  big  man  came  out  of  an 
open  shed,  which  was  part  of  the  building,  and 
put  half  a  barrel  and  two  demijohns  into  the 
wagon-box  behind  me.  In  a  moment  Bony  came 
to  the  door  and  whistled. 

"Come  an'  have  a  bite,"  he  said  to  me. 

I  was  chilled  to  the  bone,  and  my  teeth  were 
chattering  as  I  climbed  the  steps. 

Crackers  and  cheese  and  a  box  of  sardines, 
newly  opened,  lay  on  the  counter  of  a  store, 
crowded  with  merchandise  and  rank  with  many 
odors. 

Bony  stood  eating.  Now  and  then  he  took 
a  sip  of  liquor  from  a  small  glass.  He  and  the 
storekeeper  spoke  in  low  tones. 

"Another  drop  '11  warm  ye,"  said  the  store 
keeper,  as  he  poured  more  for  him. 

"It's  as  good  as  a  hot  stove,"  said  Bony, 
tipping  his  glass. 

Soon  we  returned  to  the  river  and  recrossed  it 
with  what  Bony  called  "the  cow." 

Silently,  hurriedly,  we  put  our  horse  in  the 
shafts  and  made  off  on  a  smooth  road.  The 

30 


The   Bungwood   Cow 

moon  had  set,  and  we  could  not  see  our  way. 
Bony  let  the  horse  have  his  head  and  hurried 
him  along.  Suddenly,  in  the  near  darkness, 
some  one  shouted:  "Halt!  Halt!" 

Bony's  whip  fell  savagely  on  the  back  of  the 
horse,  and  the  latter  took  the  first  leap  in  a  wild 
run.  For  half  a  minute  we  were  in  a  bad  mess, 
and  knew  not  how  we  were  coming  out  of  it. 
Pistols  roared  on  both  sides  of  us,  and  bullets 
whizzed  above  our  heads.  For  possibly  three 
minutes  we  flew  down  the  dark  road,  our  front 
wheels  leaving  ground  with  eveiy  jump.  Then 
suddenly  it  seemed  as  if  the  stars  were  falling 
on  us.  We  had  struck  something.  The  horse 
went  down,  and  we  plunged  headlong  into  the 
darkness.  I  rose  unhurt,  and  ran  around  the 
wagon  just  as  Bony  got  up  with  a  groan.  We 
could  hear  our  pursuers  coming. 

"  Follow  me,"  my  companion  whispered.  "  We 
must  take  to  the  woods  or  go  to  jail.  You're 
in  it  as  deep  as  I  am." 

I  hesitated  in  a  sort  of  panic.  My  head  was 
hot  and  more  incapable  than  ever.  One  all- 
powerful  thought  moved  me:  Bony  had  my 
watch  and  chain,  and  was  making  off  with  them. 

"  Come,  you fool — they'll  shoot  us  down!" 

Bony  whispered,  and  I  followed  him. 

We  were  in  the  midst  of  a  strip  of  woods,  and 


The    Hand-Made   Gentleman 

went  bumping  the  tree -columns  on  our  way 
through  it.  We  had  come  into  an  open  field 
when  we  heard  our  pursuers  shouting,  back 
where  the  horse  fell.  We  ran  like  frightened 
sheep,  and  slowed  our  pace  beyond  the  top  of 
a  hill  and  began  to  walk.  We  tramped  for  an 
hour  in  silence.  The  sky  was  clearing,  and  we 
could  discern  the  rocks  and  stones  and  fences. 

"  I  am  not  going  any  farther,"  I  said,  stopping 
suddenly. 

"Well,  go  back,  then,"  said  Bony  Squares. 

"You've  gone  and  got  me  into  a  nice  scrape," 
I  declared. 

"Better  git  sore  on  me — ye  saphead!"  said 
Bony,  with  contempt.  "As  if  I  expected  to  do 
anything  but  give  ye  a  dollar  an'  a  good  time." 

"  I  didn't  have  anything  to  do  with  your  smug 
gling,"  I  said.  "  If  I'd  known  you  were  in  that 
kind  of  business  I  wouldn't  have  been  with  you." 

"Go  on,  ye  cry-baby!  Wasn't  ye  in  the 
wagon?" 

"Yes— but— " 

"Well,  that's  enough — the  goods  was  in  the 
wagon,  an'  so  was  you  an'  so  was  me.  All  they 
have  to  do  is  to  ketch  ye  with  the  goods.  If 
ye  didn't  know  what  I  was  up  to,  what  did  ye 
run  for?" 

Between  tears  and  perspiration  I  felt  as  if  I 
32 


The   Bungwood    Cow 

were  melting  and  running  down  at  the  top  like 
a  tallow-candle.  But  I  held  myself  up  manfully, 
and  not  a  whimper  came  out  of  me.  I  had  be 
come  a  fugitive  in  spite  of  myself. 

"  Guess  they  wouldn't  do  much  to  us  if  we  did 
go  home,"  I  said,  tentatively. 

"No  —  ye  Mary  chaser!  They  wouldn't  do 
much  more  than  take  us  up  before  we  got  a  mile 
on  the  way.  Then  me  an'  you  to  jail,  an'  yer 
mother  'd  have  to  pay  a  thousand  dollars  to  git 
us  out.  My  folks  ain't  got  any  money." 

A  moment  of  silence  followed. 

"  If  ye  go  an'  let  out  on  me,"  he  went  on,  "  I'll 
swear,  by  all  that's  black  an'  blue,  that  you  were 
in  the  game  for  a  part  of  the  profits." 

"  Give  me  my  watch  and  chain!"  I  de 
manded. 

"  Not  unless  you'll  promise  to  stay  by  me  till 
we're  safe,"  he  said. 

I  promised,  and  so  the  watch  and  chain  were 
returned  to  me  then  and  there. 

I  saw  through  the  low  cunning  of  Bony.  He 
had  drawn  me  into  his  enterprise  for  the  sake  of 
getting  my  mother's  help  in  case  of  trouble. 

It  was  growing  light,  and  we  soon  came  out  on 
a  smooth  road,  and  walked  along  it  for  half  a 
mile  or  so.     Just  before  the  sun  rose  we  came 
to  a  man  milking  in  a  field  by  the  highway. 
3  33 


The    Hand-Made    Gentleman 

"Ho,  ho!  peaches  an'  cream!"  said  Bony,  as 
he  vaulted  the  fence.  I  followed  him. 

"We're  lost,  broke,  an'  starving,"  said  he  to 
the  stranger.  "  Mind  giving  us  a  little  fresh-laid 
milk?" 

"No,  but  you'll  have  to  take  it  out  o'  the 
pail,"  the  milker  answered. 

"Just  give  me  hold  o'  the  tin,"  said  Bony,  with 
glad  eyes.  He  blew  back  the  froth  and  drank 
like  a  famished  horse.  He  stopped  for  breath 
and  whispered :  "  Peaches  and  cream  ?  Yes,  kind 
lady,"  and  drank  more.  Again  he  rested,  smiling, 
as  he  added:  "Ham  and  eggs?  Yes,  if  you 
please,  with  a  cup  o'  coffee,"  and  continued  his 
feast.  Soon  he  passed  the  pail  to  me,  and  I 
took  a  good  drink.  Then  we  went  on  across  the 
field,  climbed  a  fence,  and  proceeded  on  our  way. 
We  left  the  road  by  walking  in  the  bed  of  a 
brook,  so  that  no  one  could  follow  our  footsteps. 

"It's  a  big  world,"  said  Bony.  "If  we  keep 
out  o'  the  way  awhile  it  '11  blow  over  and  we  can 
settle  for  a  song,  and  everything  '11  be  all  hunk. 
We'll  pike  off  West,  where  we  can  go  to  work 
for  big  wages,  and  I'll  show  ye  something  o'  the 
world." 

The  thought  presented  a  great  temptation,  for 
I  longed  to  see  Niagara  Falls,  of  which  the  Pearl 
had  told  me. 

34 


ADVENTURE  IV 


BEING  THAT  OP  CRICKET  AND  THE  PURPLE  GHOST 

E  came  to  broad  fields,  where  the 
brook  we  had  followed  wound 
through  many  acres  of  wheat. 
It  stood  thick  and  high  as  my 
shoulders,  for  I  was  rather  small 
of  my  age,  and  rustled  in  the  wind. 

"Here's  our  hotel,"  said  Bony,  as  he  began  to 
wade  in  the  brook  again.  "We'll  find  our  rooms 
and  put  up  for  the  day." 

Far  out  in  this  yellowing  field  we  climbed  the 
bank  of  the  stream,  and  on  our  hands  and  knees 
crawled  in  among  the  wheat-stalks. 

"Ah!"  said  Bony  Squares  as  he  lay  back  in 
the  wheat;  "no  ice-water,  thank  you.  Call  me 
at  seven." 

I  lay  down  near,  and  soon  heard  him  breathing 
heavily  as  he  fell  asleep.  I  looked  up  through 
the  grain  at  a  little  patch  of  the  blue  sky,  and 
thought  and  listened. 

The  great  field  rang  with  the  chirp  of  crickets, 
35 


The   Hand-Made   Gentleman 

that  somehow  set  me  thinking  of  my  folly.  It 
was  a  curious,  beautiful  country  there,  beneath 
the  grain.  Leaning  on  my  elbow,  I  could  look 
off  under  its  green  empyrean,  supported  by 
innumerable  columns.  There  were  little  roads 
and  trails,  and  a  mouse  came  galloping  up  one 
of  them.  It  suggested  a  forest  of  the  fairies.  A 
small  bird  went  by  me  wandering  in  a  little  high 
way  with  the  leisurely  pace  of  a  hen. 

I  could  hear  a  bobolink  singing  just  above  my 
head,  and  then  the  whir  of  his  wings.  Soon  he 
seized  a  swaying  stalk — one  foot  above  another 
— on  the  very  edge  of  my  bed,  and  as  he  rocked 
back  and  forth  filled  the  breeze  with  song.  A 
bumblebee,  which  had  fallen  through  the  wheat- 
blades,  rose  here  and  there  and  tried  to  ram 
his  way  upward  into  the  sunlight.  The  roar  of 
his  wings  reminded  me  of  the  big  side-wheeler 
which  had  passed  us  the  night  before  on  the 
river.  It  suggested  thunder  in  the  low,  green 
heavens  above  that  little  world.  Innumerable 
bearded  tops,  now  bleaching  yellow,  made  a  sort 
of  asolian  music  in  the  breeze.  It  has  often  seem 
ed  to  me  that  the  birds  have  better  ears  for  it 
than  we;  that,  indeed,  the  fields  are  full  of  bells 
and  harps  and  fragrance  and  color  far  beyond 
the  reach  of  men. 

Soon  I  began  to  think  of  my  mother.  She 
36 


Cricket    and   the   Purple   Ghost 

was  away  on  a  visit,  and  would  not  hear  of  my 
absence  for  a  day  or  two.  I  had  nineteen  cents 
in  my  pocket,  and  took  it  in  my  hands  and 
counted  it  carefully.  But  I  had  my  horruck  in 
a  hidden  pocket  of  my  waistcoat. 

Just  as  soon  as  possible  I  would  stop  some 
where  and  write  my  mother  a  letter,  and  let  her 
know  what  had  befallen  me.  I  felt  sure  that  by 
returning  I  should  make  her  more  trouble  than 
by  keeping  away.  She  had  often  described  to 
me  the  perils  of  bad  company,  and  I  had  promised 
to  be  careful,  but  here  I  was  up  to  my  ears  in  it. 

It  was  a  mercy  that  sleep  came  to  short 
en  that  cloudless  summer  day.  The  hot  sun 
mounted  high,  and  for  a  time  must  have  glared 
down  straight  upon  us,  and  then  descended 
below  far  wooded  hills  in  the  west;  but  still  we 
slept.  It  was  growing  dusk  when  I  was  awaken 
ed  by  the  roar  of  a  bird's  wings.  Bony  was  on 
his  knees  within  reach  of  my  hand,  looking  down 
at  me.  A  bird  kept  dipping  close  to  the  ears  of 
my  companion  and  snapping  his  wings. 

Bony  took  a  bun  from  his  pocket,  and  crowded 
half  of  it  into  his  mouth.  It  stuck  out  like  a  wen, 
and  slowly  diminished  as  he  ate.  He  renewed 
his  wen,  saying  as  he  did  so: 

"Come  to  supper,  old  man.  The  buns  are  all 
gone.  Have  some  bread?" 

37 


The   Hand-Made   Gentleman 

I  was  hungry,  and  promptly  answered,  "Yes." 

"Plug  or  fine  cut?"  he  demanded,  taking 
crumbs  of  varying  sizes  out  of  his  hip-pocket. 
"Here's  bread  and  two  pieces  of  turnpike  cheese, 
and  one  egg  on  the  half -shell,  and  three  spikes." 

The  three  spikes  were  dried  herring,  which  he 
had  taken  out  of  his  trousers-pocket. 

"Aunt  Maria!"  he  exclaimed,  as  he  took  a  bite 
of  herring;  "it's  like  eating  a  jack-knife." 

He  spoke  glibly,  and  spread  each  article  on  a 
piece  of  newspaper  in  front  of  us.  My  tongue 
was  parched,  and  I  went  to  the  brook  on  my 
hands  and  knees,  and  sank  my  mouth  in  the 
ripples  and  drank  greedily,  as  if  I  had  been  a 
creature  of  four  feet.  I  never  knew  there  could 
be  so  much  delight  in  the  simple  act  of  drinking 
water. 

I  ate  two  herrings  and  half  of  the  cheese,  and 
all  the  crumbs  that  fell,  as  it  were,  from  the  rich 
man's  table. 

Suddenly  we  heard  the  whistle  of  a  locomotive. 

"There's  a  railroad  nigh,"  said  Bony.  "Ever 
ride  on  the  cars?" 

"No,"  I  answered.     "Did  you?" 

"Pooh,  hundreds  o'  miles!"  he  exclaimed,  with 
disgust  at  the  question.  "Come  on;  maybe  we 
can  get  that  train.  It  was  four  or  five  miles 
away  when  it  whistled." 

38 


Cricket    and   the    Purple   Ghost 

We  hurried  off  in  the  dusk,  and  after  walking 
a  mile  or  so  came  to  a  railroad,  and  could  see  the 
lights  of  a  depot  near  us.  We  mounted  the 
wooden  beams  which,  with  straps  of  iron  on 
their  tops  for  a  bearing,  were  the  tracks  of  those 
days,  and  hurried  to  a  point  near  the  depot. 
There  we  sat  down  and  waited  in  the  darkness 
till  the  arrival  of  our  train — a  fearsome  thing, 
that  roared  and  creaked  along  with  spark- 
showers  and  rags  of  flame  in  the  air  above  it. 
The  trainmen  rudely  shouted  their  commands, 
as  if  the  waiting  crowd  were  so  many  cattle.  I 
trembled  as  I  hurried  with  Bony  to  the  side  of 
the  train. 

"I've  only  nineteen  cents,"  I  whispered. 

"Never  mind,  sonny — I'll  pay  yer  fare,"  said 
he,  jauntily,  as  if  such  excitement  and  generosity 
were  quite  familiar  to  him. 

We  climbed  the  platform  when  all  were  aboard, 
and  Bony  said  to  me: 

"We'll  stand  here,  if  they  don't  kick  us  off, 
until  we  get  to  the  next  stop." 

So  we  stood  in  the  spark-shower  as  our  train 
roared  and  creaked  along,  and  the  platform  be 
gan  to  sway  and  jump  and  shove  and  jerk  and 
waver.  A  young  man  in  a  gay  uniform  of  blue 
and  brass  came  out  with  a  lantern  and  bawled 
this  in  my  ear: 

39 


The   Hand-Made   Gentleman 

"Look  a-here,  bub! — see  that  picture?"  He 
held  his  lantern  so  that  I  could  see  the  picture 
of  a  grave  on  the  car  door.  Its  headstone  con 
tained  these  words: 


&acreb  to  tfe  memori?  of  a  man 
ttfto  once  srooD  on  a  car  platform 


We  passed  into  the  car,  and  sat  on  a  straight- 
backed  seat  by  a  rattling  window.  It  was  much 
shorter  than  the  cars  of  to-day,  and  permeated 
with  the  odor  of  whale-oil  that  came  from  its 
lamps,  and  had  a  stove  at  each  end.  The  con 
ductor  told  us,  when  we  had  paid  four  cents  a 
mile  for  our  fare  to  the  next  stop,  that  we  had 
just  left  De  Kalb  Junction  and  were  on  the 
night  express  for  the  South.  A  man  was  asleep 
near  us  with  a  curious  framework  of  iron  behind 
him.  It  extended  from  the  middle  of  his  spine 
to  the  back  of  his  head,  and  had  a  sort  of  spring 
in  it  which  permitted  him  to  sit  in  a  leaning 
posture. 

I  asked  the  conductor  what  it  was. 

"That,"  said  he,  "is  one  o'  them  new  con 
trivances.  Some  call  it  a  jolt-taker.  It  smoothes 
the  way  a  little  and  is  an  aid  to  sleep." 

In  a  moment  Bony  whispered  to  me:  "The 
40 


Cricket    and   the  Purple   Ghost 

coast  is  clear,  and  I  guess  we'll  go  on  a  little 
farther,  and  I'll  pay  your  fare  if  you'll  give  me 
your  jack-knife." 

I  had  one  which  had  cost  me  ten  shillings,  and 
I  gave  it  over.  So  we  rode  on  for  some  two 
hours  or  more,  and  left  the  train  about  ten 
o'clock,  and  inquired  our  way  of  the  agent,  and 
then  went  on  afoot.  It  was  very  dark,  and 
Bony  said  that  the  moon  would  be  up  by-and- 
by,  then  we  could  find  a  barn  or  some  place 
where  we  could  turn  in  for  the  night.  We  had 
smooth  footing,  and  hurried  on,  but  no  moon 
came  to  guide  us.  It  was  far  past  midnight 
when  Bony  halted,  near  some  black  object  be 
side  the  road,  and  struck  a  match  and  lighted 
a  wad  of  paper. 

We  saw,  then,  a  ruined  gate  and  weeds  grow 
ing  beyond  it.  I  followed  as  my  leader  went  in 
among  the  weeds.  He  lighted  more  paper,  and 
we  saw  in  the  flare  an  old  mansion  with  broken 
windows  and  a  sagging  porch.  It  had  been  long 
deserted,  one  could  tell  at  a  glance.  We  soon 
found  the  open  doorway  and  entered,  and  Bony's 
matches  showed  us  a  ruined  hall  as  large  as 
my  mother's  door-yard.  A  broken  fireplace  and 
cracked  chimney  of  red  brick  faced  the  door.  A 
plough  and  harrow,  some  fallen  plaster,  and  old 
iron  littered  the  floor.  A  pair  of  sleighs,  with 

41 


The   Hand-Made   Gentleman 

a  box  on  them,  had  been  stored  in  a  corner. 
Some  straw  in  the  bottom  of  the  sleigh-box 
seemed  to  invite  us  to  lie  upon  it,  and  we  did  so. 
Bony  took  off  his  coat  and  spread  it  over  him — 
a  good  thing  to  remember  if  one  has  no  better 
blanket — and  I  followed  his  example. 

"What's  that?"  I  whispered,  having  heard  a 
sound  like  that  of  some  one  stealthily  crossing 
the  floor  above-stairs. 

"Don't  know — I  guess  Adam  must  'a'  built 
this  house." 

"Haunted,  maybe,"  I  suggested.  "Probably 
some  one  has  been  murdered  here." 

"  Shut  up !"  said  Bony,  with  a  shiver.  "  You'll 
give  me  the  megrums." 

I  lay  awhile  listening,  and  went  to  sleep  cold 
and  hungry.  I  do  not  know  how  long  I  had 
slept — it  was,  probably,  not  more  than  half  an 
hour — when  a  shrill  and  awful  cry  awoke  us. 

Believe  me,  I  have  heard  some  yelling  in  my 
day,  but  that  cry  cut  like  a  knife.  As  I  think 
of  it  now,  it  reminds  me  of  Salvini's  wail  when  I 
saw  him  play  the  Ghost  in  Hamlet.  Honest 
ly,  it  made  my  heart  tremble.  That  sleigh-box 
seemed  to  palpitate  with  terror.  I  rose  on  my 
elbow  and  looked  off  in  the  darkness.  Bony 
covered  his  face  and  trembled.  For  a  moment 
I  could  hear  only  the  slow,  steady  beat  of  rain- 

42 


Cricket   and   the   Purple    Ghost 

drops;  then  stealthy  footsteps  and  the.  sound 
of  trailing  garments  on  the  floor.  Again  that 
weird,  ghostly  cry  set  my  ears  aching.  I  could 
feel  each  hair  in  my  scalp  stir  and  quiver.  I 
heard  again  the  sound  of  stealthy  feet  and  of 
trailing  garments.  Then  we  heard  the  shaking 
of  a  sheet  in  the  darkness — or  that,  at  least,  was 
the  only  sound  to  which  one  could  liken  it. 
Bony  lay  groaning  and  shivering  beside  me.  I 
found  a  match  and  struck  it  on  a  side  of  the 
sleigh-box.  First,  I  stared  off  in  the  darkness 
and  saw  nothing;  then  I  looked  down  at  my 
companion.  His  face  appalled  me;  it  was  the 
mask  of  horror.  But  the  glimpse  he  got  of  my 
own  visage  in  the  dim  match-light  had  a  worse 
effect  upon  him.  He  really  saw  a  spirit  then, 
and  I  saw  one  also,  and  what  I  saw  was  a  fearful 
thing  to  behold — the  guilty,  evil  spirit  of  Bony 
Squares.  I  could  hardly  resist  the  impulse  to 
fly  from  him.  With  a  wild  cry  he  leaped  out  of 
the  sleigh-box  and  stumbled  toward  the  door 
way  and  fled. 

I  lay  back  and  covered  my  face  with  my  coat. 
For  hours  I  lay  listening  and  shivering,  and  fear 
ing  I  knew  not  what. 

In  the  faint,  first  light  of  the  morning  I  rose 
and  peered  about  me.  Soon  I  saw  the  silhouette 
of  a  big  bird  in  an  open  window  across  the 

43 


The    Hand-Made  Gentleman 

ruined  hall.  The  light  grew  clearer  and  my 
vision  more  acute.  The  bird  that  stood  on  the 
window-sill  was  a  peacock,  with  a  purple  body 
and  a  tail  some  seven  feet  long.  As  I  rose  it 
flew  to  the  ground,  with  that  weird  shriek  which 
had  filled  the  darkness  with  terror.  The  mys 
tery  was  explained.  There  were  the  trailing  gar 
ments,  the  wings  that  rustled  like  a  sheet  when 
he  rose  to  the  window-sill. 

This  adventure  served,  as  it  were,  to  separate 
me  from  the  goats.  There  was  yet  another 
thing  which  it  accomplished:  it  cleared  the 
earth  of  ghosts  for  me,  so  that  I  no  longer  feared 
them,  having  always  a  just  suspicion  of  such 
fancies. 


ADVENTURE  V 


BEING  THAT  OF  CRICKET  AND  THE  HAND-MADE 
GENTLEMAN 

TOOK  the  road  again,  faint  with 
hunger.  I  tell  you,  one  will  have 
faith  in  the  goodness  of  men  and 
women  who  makes  a  journey  like 
that  of  mine.  I  remember  it  al 
most  broke  me  down  to  go  to  a  farm-house  and 
face  the  good  woman  who  opened  the  door  and 
ask  for  a  chance  to  earn  my  breakfast.  When 
I  spoke  to  her,  there  must  have  been  something 
in  my  voice  and  countenance  not  to  be  denied 
or  even  rudely  dealt  with.  I  got  all  that  I 
needed  and  more,  and  went  on  my  way  with  a 
bundle  of  luncheon  and  a  heart  full  of  gratitude. 
The  sun  was  shining  out  of  a  clear  sky  behind 
me,  and  I  knew  that  I  was  travelling  in  the  right 
direction.  The  white-throated  sparrow  sang  on 
a  wooded  slope: 


/Lff  *• 

-    25  ••-*- 

3z: 

,. 

2— 

_  . 

fflv     / 

"jS 

*      °  -1 

Will  you  mar- ry    me,    mar-ry  me,    mar~ry  me. 
45 


The   Hand-Made    Gentleman 

The  sidings  were  aglow  with  goldenrod  and  blue 
bells,  and  the  breeze  had  a  musky  breath,  and 
every  bush  was  a  fountain  of  song.  I  posted  a 
letter  to  my  mother  in  a  little  hamlet  through 
which  I  passed  about  ten  o'clock. 

Near  noon  I  overtook  a  boy  some  two  or  three 
years  older  than  myself.  He  had  a  wooden  leg 
— a  rude  stump  on  which  his  knee  rested — and 
walked  with  a  grip  in  his  hand.  He  was  a  rugged, 
serious-looking  boy,  with  a  face  browned  by  the 
sunlight.  He  asked  for  my  name  and  "place  of 
residence." 

"  I'm  a  commercial  traveller,"  he  informed  me, 
presently. 

"What  do  you  sell?" 

"Sit  down  an'  I'll  show  ye." 

We  sat  on  the  grass  together,  and  he  opened 
his  grip.  It  was  full  of  round  white  balls,  differing 
in  size  and  neatly  wrapped  in  tinted  tissue-paper. 

"What  is  it?"  I  asked. 

"What  is  it?"  he  answered,  with  dignity. 
"That,  sir,  is  Sal." 

"Sal?"  said  L 

"Sal,"  said  he,  with  a  fond  look  at  one  of 
the  white  balls  which  now  lay  in  his  hand. 
"Sal  cleans  and  polishes  silverware,  glassware, 
gold,  brass,  and  pewter;  removes  dirt  from  wood 
work,  and  makes  the  home  bright  and  beautiful." 

46 


Cricket   and  the   Hand-Made  Gentleman 

He  spoke  this  lingo  as  if  it  were  some  passage 
from  a  book  of  poetry,  and  paused  to  note  its 
effect  upon  me. 

"What  is  your  line?"  he  asked. 

"  I'm  on  my  way  West  to  find  employment," 
said  I. 

"How  would  you  like  to  take  Sal  with  you?'' 
he  asked. 

"  I  don't  know,"  was  my  answer. 

"I'll  sell  you  the  receipt  for  a  dollar,"  said 
the  boy  with  a  wooden  leg.  "  Fifty  cents'  worth 
of  material  will  make  a  hundred  balls.  They 
sell  like  hot  cakes — ten  cents  for  the  small  sizes, 
twenty-five  for  the  large." 

"I  haven't  much  money — only  sixteen  cents," 
I  answered,  with  embarrassment,  remembering 
that  I  had  just  paid  three  cents  for  postage. 

He  looked  me  over  from  head  to  foot,  and  said, 
"I'll  trust  ye,  if  ye'd  like  to  try  it." 

"All  right,"  I  said. 

He  opened  his  little  grip  and  counted  out  ten 
of  the  small  balls  and  as  many  large  ones. 

"There,"  said  he,  "ye  ought  to  be  able  to  sell 
'em  all  in  a  day.  Then  you  can  send  me  a  dollar 
for  the  receipt." 

"How  do  you  go  to  work  to  sell  it?"  I  asked. 

"The  towns  are  best,"  said  he.  "When  I  get 
to  a  town  I  make  a  little  map  of  the  main  streets 
•  47 


The   Hand-Made   Gentleman 

and  put  down  the  names — the  hotel  man  is  al 
ways  glad  to  help  you.  By-an'-by  I  begin  to  ring 
the  door-bells.  I  don't  ask  for  the  lady  of  the 
house — no,  sir;  I  say,  'Is  Mrs.  Smith  at  home?' 
It  works  grand — there  she  is.  'Kind  lady,'  says 
I,  'I'm  introducin'  Sal,  who  cleans  silverware, 
glassware,  etc.  Sal  is  better  than  a  hired  girl.' 

"Don't  forget  to  say  that  it  makes  the  home 
bright  and  beautiful.  It's  a  nice  chunk  o' 
language  an'  tells  just  what  the  women  are  try 
ing  to  do.  Course  she  says,  'No,  thanks.'  Then 
says  I,  'If  you've  any  old  piece  o'  tarnished 
silver,  I'd  like  to  make  a  little  exhibition.  As  the 
poet  says: 

"  '  I'll  make  it  shine 
As  brightly  as  those  eyes  of  thine.' 

Throw  in  a  little  portry  once  in  a  while.  It 
sounds  good  an'  is  easy  to  remember.  But  ye 
got  to  be  careful.  Some  don't  like  it.  Women 
that  wear  aprons  an'  rings  an'  breastpins,  an' 
have  their  sleeves  rolled  up,  '11  generally  stand 
portry,  'specially  if  they've  got  curly  hair.  Look 
out  for  handsome  women  that  wear  diamonds 
an'  set  around  with  their  feet  up  readin'  portry.' 
Seems  so  them  that  read  portry  get  enough  of 
it.  Don't  ever  give  'em  any  of  yours. 

"Women  are  funny.  Around  here  there's 
two  kinds  of  'em — insiders  an'  outsiders.  The 

48 


Cricket  and   the    Hand-Made  Gentleman 

outsiders  talk  about  their  neighbors;  the  in 
siders  talk  about  their  livers  an'  lungs,  an'  so  on. 
I  know  one  that  talks  about  her  liver  shameful. 
You'd  think  it  was  the  meanest  thing  in  the 
world. 

"They  ain't  all  alike.  In  some  places  you'll 
find  'em  perched  in  their  fam'ly  trees.  Lord! 
I  know  one  that  sets  an'  chirps  by  the  hour  in 
her  fam'ly  tree.  You've  got  to  let  her  go  it, 
an'  bym-by,  maybe,  you  can  bring  her  down  to 
the  fam'ly  tea-pot.  If  so,  you're  all  right.  It's 
wonderful  how  they  go  on.  You'll  enjoy  it,  an' 
that's  half  the  battle. 

"Be  sure  to  notice  the  children.  I  always 
let  'em  fool  with  my  wooden  leg.  Sometimes  I 
put  one  end  on  a  chair  an'  let  'em  set  on  it.  I 
suppose  this  old  leg  has  been  set  on  an'  abused 
more  than  any  leg  in  the  world. 

"You  ain't  got  a  wooden  leg,  an'  it's  kind  of  a 
pity,  as  ye  might  say,  for  it's  wonderful  how  this 
thing  helps  in  business.  Lots  o'  times  it  helps 
ye  git  acquainted,  an'  that  gives  ye  a  chance. 
Then  say,  look  a- there."  He  flung  his  wooden 
stump  over  his  knee  and  felt  the  surface  of  it, 
and  explained:  "That's  where  one  kid  drove  a 
nail  in  it,  an'  that's  where  one  fetched  a  whack 
with  a  stove  iron,  an'  there  a  little  red-headed 
boy  bored  a  hole  with  his  gimlet.  Curious  how 
*  49 


The   Hand-Made   Gentleman 

they  take  to  it;  an'  I  don't  mind  much.  Helps 
business  an'  makes  'em  happy." 

He  called  my  attention  to  many  small  dents  in 
the  wood. 

"That's  where  the  dogs  has  bit  it,"  he  went 
on.  "If  a  dog  comes  at  me,  I  always  put  it  out 
to  him.  It  keeps  'em  busy." 

He  showed  me  a  small  atomizer,  adding,  "A 
little  ammonia  '11  shift  the  trouble  onto  them." 

We  rose  and  resumed  our  journey.  I  had 
stored  my  small  stock  of  Sal  in  my  coat-pockets. 

"There's  the  receipt,"  said  he,  gravely,  as  he 
handed  me  a  piece  of  paper. 

It  revealed  the  fact  that  Sal  was  chiefly  com 
posed  of  whiting  and  ammonia. 

"All  ye  need  now  is  a  small  sponge  an'  some 
tissue-paper,  an'  here's  a  piece  o'  chamois  that 
ye  can  have  an'  welcome." 

He  explained  his  method  of  applying  the  Sal, 
and  presently  handed  me  his  card,  on  which  I 
read  this  legend: 


JAMES   HENRY  MCCARTHY 
COMMERCIAL  TRAVELLER 

HERMON  CENTRE,  N.  Y. 


' '  I  ain't  much  there, "  he  went  on.     '  'The  boys 
call  me  Pegleg  at  home,  an'  that's  one  reason  I 


Cricket   and  the   Hand-Made   Gentleman 

got  out.  I  wish  you'd  call  me  Mr.  McCarthy, 
please.  I  intend  to  be  a  gentleman,  an'  try  to 
be.  Can  you  tell  me  what  a  gentleman  is?" 

I  looked  thoughtful  and  said  nothing.  Mr.  Mc 
Carthy  continued: 

"He's  a  man  that  don't  git  drunk  or  swear 
or  pare  his  nails  in  public,  an'  always  takes  off 
his  hat  to  a  lady.  He  washes  his  hands  before 
he  goes  to  the  table,  an'  eats  kind  o'  slow  an' 
deliberate,  an'  maybe  smokes  a  fine  cigar  after 
dinner,  'an  always  does  as  he'd  like  to  be 
done  by.  That's  why  I'm  tryin*  to  help  you 
along." 

I  expressed  my  gratitude  in  no  half-hearted 
way. 

"I  like  you,  dinged  if  I  don't,"  said  Mr. 
McCarthy,  with  a  kindly  patronage.  "You'll 
git  along  all  right — don't  worry." 

After  a  moment  of  silence,  he  went  on: 

"Ye  see,  I'm  careful  about  all  these  things.  I 
keep  my  eyes  an'  ears  open,  an'  I'm  teachin' 
myself.  I'm  a  kind  of  a  hand-made  gentleman, 
an'  that's  the  most  durable  kind.  But  I  ain't 
finished  myself  yet.  You  wait;  I'll  show  ye 
something  one  o'  these  days.  How  do  you  hap 
pen  to  be  on  the  road?" 

I  told  him  my  story. 

"Don't  worry,"   he  went  on.     "Mr.   James 


The    Hand-Made   Gentleman 

Henry  McCarthy  will  see  you  through.  I  try  to 
be  benevolent." 

We  walked  on  a  little  way  in  silence. 

"I  suppose  you've  noticed  that  I  can  sling 
some  rather  big  words,"  he  remarked,  presently. 
"Well,  I  always  carry  a  pocket  dictionary,  an' 
when  I  hear  a  word  I  like  I  look  it  up  an'  chalk 
it  down  in  my  note-book ;  helps  my  conversation. 
I  study  it  a  good  deal  while  I'm  travelling.  Ye 
see,  I  never  had  a  chance  to  go  to  school  much — 
just  learnt  how  to  read  an'  write  an'  cipher  a 
little.  My  knowledge  ain't  very  superior.  Now, 
that's  quite  a  word — superior.  How  does  it 
sound?" 

"All  right,"  I  answered. 

"Never  used  it  before — found  it  in  the  book 
to-day.  I've  got  about  forty  dollars  saved,  an' 
I've  learnt  thirty  new  words  so  't  I  can  use 
'em.  When  I  go  home  by-an'-by  they've  got 
to  look  up  to  me." 

The  oddness  of  it  all  was  not  lost  upon  me, 
young  as  I  was.  I  think  often  of  the  frankness 
of  that  young  son  of  America,  just  beginning  to 
feel  his  way  upward  from  the  plane  of  lowly 
poverty  and  of  his  kindly  heart.  I  dreamed 
not  then  of  what  he  was  to  do  in  the  world. 

"Come  into  this  house  with  me,"  said  Mr. 
McCarthy.  "I'll  give  ye  an  exposition — ahem! 


Cricket   and  the  Hand-Made   Gentleman 

that's  one  o'  my  new  ones.  Pretty  fair  kind  of 
a  farm-house.  Wouldn't  wonder  if  there  was 
some  old  silver  in  it." 

He  led  me  to  the  front  door  of  a  big,  square, 
old  country  mansion.  A  maid  opened  the  door 
and  asked  to  know  our  business.  Mr.  McCarthy 
removed  his  hat  and  bowed. 

"Will  you  please  communicate  with  the  lady 
of  the  house,"  said  he,  "an'  tell  her  that  I  am 
selling  Sal?  Kindly  inform  her  that  Sal  cleans 
silverware,  glassware,  gold,  brass,  and  pewter; 
removes  dirt  from  woodwork,  and  makes  the 
home  bright  and  beautiful.  If  you've  any  old 
silver  I'd  like  to  show  ye  what  it  '11  do." 

The  maid  brought  him  a  tarnished  tea-pot, 
and  McCarthy  went  to  work  and  soon  made  it 
glow  like  a  drop  of  dew  in  the  sunlight.  The 
maid  took  it  to  her  mistress,  and  returned  pres 
ently  with  fifty  cents  to  be  invested  in  Sal. 

"I  just  wanted  to  show  ye  what  Sal  can  do," 
said  Mr.  McCarthy,  as  we  went  away.  "Ye  got 
to  believe  what  ye  say  or  ye  can't  sell  anything. 
Make  yourself  believe  in  it,  an'  you'll  succeed." 

We  came  presently  to  four  comers  in  the 
road,  where  my  new  friend  bade  me  sit  down 
with  him.  He  consulted  his  note-book. 

"Here,"  said  he,  "are  Jehoshaphat  Corners. 
The  straight  road  goes  to  Canaan,  Waterville, 

53 


The    Hand-Made   Gentleman 

and  Van  Kleek's  Huddle;  the  left  to  Putney, 
Porridgeville,  and  Lawrence.  You  take  one 
road  an'  I'll  take  the  other,  an'  four  weeks  from 
now  we  could  meet  an'  settle  up  at  Graham's 
Hotel  in  Buffalo.  It's  only  a  dollar  a  day  there. 
Here,  I'll  lend  ye  fifty  cents;  it  '11  help  some  till 
ye  get  a-going." 

"You're  very  kind,  and  I  thank  you  for  it." 
"Don't  mention  it,"  said  he.     "It's  no  more 
than  any  gentleman  would  do." 

So  we  parted  there,  and  I  took  the  straight 
road  and  he  turned  to  the  left. 


ADVENTURE  VI 


IN    WHICH    CRICKET    HAS    SUNDRY    EXPERIENCES 

WAS  lonely  at  leaving  Mr. 
McCarthy,  but  full  of  hope.  At 
Canaan  I  went  to  work  and  sold 
about  half  my  stock  of  goods 
and  took  the  cars  to  Waterville. 
There  I  bought  a  small  hand-bag  and  a  stock 
of  ingredients  for  my  receipt,  and  had  just  left 
my  hotel  next  morning  to  begin  my  canvass 
when  a  trumpet  sounded  up  the  main  street  of 
the  little  city.  Turning,  I  saw  a  caravan  of 
great  red  wagons  coming  toward  me  at  a  swift 
pace,  led  by  four  beautiful  white  horses.  A 
smart-looking  lady  and  gentleman  occupied  the 
high  seat  of  the  first  van,  and  he  was  driving  the 
white  horses. 

"A  circus!"  I  heard  people  exclaim  near  me, 
and  every  foot  halted  and  all  eyes  were  bent 
on  the  red  vans.  They  were  fast  approaching. 
The  driver  referred  to  wore  a  white  beaver  hat 
and  a  coat  of  blue  velvet  with  a  white  flower  in 

55 


The    Hand-Made    Gentleman 

its  buttonhole.  The  lady  beside  him  was  a  won 
derful  creature  with  a  great  hat  and  fluttering 
ribbons  and  gleaming  jewels,  and  a  face  more 
beautiful,  as  I  thought,  than  any  my  poor  eyes 
had  seen.  Three  glowing  vans  had  gone  by, 
each  with  its  team  of  handsome  horses,  and  each 
van  ornately  lettered  as  follows: 

JAMES   FISK'S  TRAVELLING  EMPORIUM. 
DRY  GOODS  AND  YANKEE  NOTIONS 

A  white  banner  on  the  first  and  third  vans 
announced : 

OUR    GREAT    STORE    WILL    BE    OPEN    FROM   Two    TO 

Six   TO-DAY  IN   THE   VACANT   LOT   CORNER 

OF  CROSBY  AND  MAIN  STREETS 

I  began  my  work,  and  for  an  hour  or  so  the 
vans  were  passing  up  and  down  the  streets,  and 
most  of  the  women  I  saw  left  me  to  go  and  look 
out  of  their  doors  and  windows.  I  could  make 
little  headway,  for  by  two  o'clock  the  houses 
were  all  empty.  Mothers,  daughters,  and  hired 
girls  were  on  their  way  to  the  great  travelling 
store.  I  went  with  the  crowd,  and  found  the 
red  vans  in  a  row  on  the  vacant  lot  and  many 
gathered  about  them.  The  sides  of  each  van 
had  been  let  down  to  serve  as  counters  on  which 

56 


Cricket   Has   Sundry    Experiences 

the  goods  were  displayed.  The  smart-looking 
man  who  had  driven  the  white  horses  sat  under 
a  little  canopy  of  red-and-white  bunting  with  the 
wonderful  lady  who  had  ridden  beside  him.  I 
stood  with  a  score  of  other  people  looking  at 
them. 

"  What !  do  you  think  I  would  lie  for  a  shilling  ?" 
he  was  saying  to  a  man  who  stood  beside  him. 
"Bosh!  I  might  tell  eight  lies  for  a  dollar,  but 
one  for  a  shilling !  No !  That's  below  my  price." 

He  laid  off  his  beaver  hat  and  sat  twisting  his 
sandy-hued  mustache.  His  curly  hair  was  cut 
close. 

"Hey,  boy!"  he  said,  as  he  beckoned  to  me, 
"  want  to  earn  half  a  dollar?" 

"Yes,"  I  answered. 

"Well,  trot  down  to  the  depot  and  bring  me 
a  copy  of  last  night's  Utica  Observer"  he  com 
manded,  as  he  put  a  shinplaster  in  my  hand. 

When  I  had  returned  with  the  paper,  he  asked, 
"What  ye  got  in  yer  grip?" 

"Sal,"  I  answered. 

"Sal!"  he  exclaimed,  with  a  laugh,  "who's 
Sal?" 

"A  wonder!"  I  answered.  "Cleans  and  pol 
ishes  glassware,  silverware,  gold,  brass,  and  pew 
ter;  removes  dirt  from  woodwork,  and  makes 
the  home  bright  and  beautiful." 

57 


The    Hand-Made    Gentleman 

He  laughed  again,  and  asked  me  to  show  him 
what  Sal  could  do  on  the  large  silver  buckles 
which  adorned  his  shoes.  This  I  did,  and  the 
result  so  pleased  him  that  he  offered  me  a  dollar 
for  the  balance  of  my  stock,  and  I  gladly  closed 
the  deal. 

It  was  about  three  o'clock  when  I  set  out  afoot 
for  the  Huddle.  About  half-way  there  I  found 
a  puppy  in  the  road — a  small,  lonely,  pathetic 
creature,  abandoned  by  some  one  who  had  had 
enough  of  him.  I  wonder  if  ever  I  felt  such  an 
appeal  as  came  out  of  that  warm  little  bundle  of 
playfulness,  wrapped  in  the  softest  robe  of  silken 
fur  and  with  eyes  saying,  "Please,  sir,  take  me 
and  be  kind  to  me." 

The  puppy  followed  me  until  I  yielded  to  his 
pleading  and  took  him  up  in  my  arms.  Well,  he 
was  better  than  no  company,  and  I  buttoned  him 
under  my  coat  and  against  my  breast,  where  he 
lay  asleep  with  only  his  nose  in  view.  At  dusk 
I  found  lodgings  in  a  farm-house,  and  went  to 
my  room  contented  with  the  bit  of  luncheon  that 
I  had  with  me.  A  kindly  old  woman  had  said 
that  I  could  stay,  and  sent  a  hired  man  up-stairs 
with  me.  He  explained  that  "the  boss  and  his 
wife"  were  away,  and  would  not  return  for  an 
hour  or  so.  I  offered  to  pay  him  if  he  would 
take  care  of  the  puppy,  but  he  had  to  hurry  to 

58 


Cricket   Has   Sundry   Experiences 

meet  a  train,  and  said  that  he  would  come  up 
and  get  him  later. 

I  decided  to  make  some  Sal,  and  so  I  put  the 
ingredients  in  my  wash-bowl  and  added  water. 
It  became  an  obstinate,  ill-looking  mess,  and  one 
might  as  well  have  tried  to  make  balls  out  of 
buttermilk.  It  resisted  all  my  efforts.  I  won 
dered  what  I  should  do  with  it,  and  lay  down 
upon  the  bed  in  discouragement.  The  hired 
man  had  not  yet  returned,  and  the  puppy  had 
gone  to  sleep  in  a  corner.  I  would  lie  there  and 
rest  while  I  waited,  and  so,  thinking,  fell  asleep. 

Some  hours  later  the  puppy  woke  me  with 
loud  cries  of  despair.  The  hired  man  must  have 
forgotten  his  promise.  I  rose  from  the  bed,  and 
saw  the  plight  of  my  puppy.  He  had  wallowed 
in  my  basin,  and  the  soft  Sal  lay  thick  on  his 
body.  He  began  wailing  as  if  wild  with  all 
regret.  I  could  hear  people  jumping  out  of 
bed. 

In  a  moment  I  heard  a  rap  at  my  door,  and 
opened  it.  A  man,  half  dressed,  sprang  aside 
as  the  puppy  ran  upon  his  bare  feet.  Farther 
down  the  gloomy  hall  I  could  hear  him  calling 
and  pursuing  my  pet;  then  a  soft  thud  on  the 
floor.  The  man  had  picked  up  the  puppy  and 
dropped  him,  saying,  "Heavens!"  It  was  only 
one  word,  but  full  of  meaning. 

59 


The    Hand-Made   Gentleman 

I  tried  to  clean  the  floor  while  my  benefactors 
pursued  the  unhappy  creature. 

"Pick  him  up!"  said  a  woman,  excitedly. 

"Pick  him  up!     Never!"  said  the  man. 

"Seems  so  he  was  covered  with  lather,"  said 
the  woman. 

"Maybe  he's  mad!"  another  suggested. 
"Throw  this  sheet  over  him!" 

"Come  on,  I've  got  him  now,"  said  the  first 
woman. 

Soon  there  came  a  loud  rap  at  my  door.  A 
tall,  thin,  long-nosed  Yankee  entered  as  I 
opened  it. 

"See  here,  young  man,"  he  drawled,  "  what 
do  you  mean  by  fillin'  this  house  with  puppies?" 

"There  is  only  one,  sir,"  I  answered. 

"Only  one!"  said  he,  sharply.  "I  should 
think  that  was  enough.  He's  as  big  as  an 
elephant.  He  filled  the  house  from  cellar  to 
garret,  and  crowded  us  all  out  o'  bed  and  yelled 
for  more  room.  Say,  what's  he  got  on  him?" 

"Silver  polish,"  I  answered. 

"Silver  polish!"  said  he.  "Well,  I've  read 
o'  their  puttin'  dogs  in  a  bath-tub,  but  I  never 
heard  o'  their  bein'  polished  before." 

"He  got  into  the  basin  where  I  mixed  it." 

My  visitor  picked  up  the  dish  of  soft  Sal,  and 
held  it  near  the  light  for  examination. 

60 


Cricket    Has   Sundry    Experiences 

"Godfrey  Cordial!"  he  remarked,  "it's  an 
awful-lookin'  mess!  What  do  you  call  it?" 

"Sal,"  I  answered. 

"Sal!"  he  exclaimed.  "I'm  sorry  that  you 
an'  Sal  ever  lit  in  my  family  tree.  You're  a  fine 
pair  o'  birds." 

I  explained  to  him  that  the  hired  man  had 
promised  to  take  the  puppy  out-of-doors,  but 
had  forgotten  to  do  so,  and  he  left  me. 

I  went  to  breakfast  soon  after  daylight  in  the 
morning.  When  I  returned  to  my  room  the 
Sal  was  gone.  Some  one  had  carried  the  bowl 
away  with  its  contents.  I  went  below  to  look 
for  the  proprietor.  I  found  him  shovelling  dirt 
in  the  garden. 

"Somebody  took  my  polish,"  I  said  to  him, 
as  pleasantly  as  possible. 

"Yes,  an'  I'm  about  to  bury  it  an'  the  dog, 
too." 

"Is  the  dog  dead?"  I  asked,  with  a  pang  of 
regret. 

"Yes;  slain  by  his  own  deviltry!  Oh,  he  had 
a  busy  night!  Got  to  play  in'  with  our  ol'  cat; 
he  polished  her  an'  she  polished  him.  Her  paws 
are  all  gummed  up  an'  her  eyes  swelled  an'  kind 
o'  shiny.  He  got  at  our  shepherd  dog  an' 
polished  him.  That  dog  has  got  a  sore  mouth 
an'  is  brighter  than  he  ever  was  before,  The 

61 


The   Hand-Made   Gentleman 

last  performance  of  your  puppy  was  to  tackle 
one  o'  the  hind  feet  o'  my  ol'  mare;  he  didn't 
live  long  after  that.  The  services  have  begun, 
an'  I  guess  you're  the  only  mourner.  I've  just 
prayed  that  I  may  never  see  him  again.  The 
sermon  will  be  short.  Don't  ever  take  up  any 
more  room  in  the  world  than  what  you're  en 
titled  to." 

So  ended  my  first  adventure  in  business.  It 
taught  me  the  wisdom  of  knowing  how,  and  of 
being  sure  about  it,  and,  further,  that  one  is  to 
be  careful  not  to  take  more  than  his  share  of 
room  in  the  world. 


ADVENTURE  VII 


WHICH  IS  THAT  OF  CRICKET  AND  THE  LOVER  AND 
THE    POTATO-SACK 

HE  farmer  in  whose  house  I  had 
spent  the  night  was  a  thrifty  man 
of  the  name  of  Ephraim  Baker. 
My  hope  in  Sal  having  been  over 
thrown,  I  offered  him  my  services. 
I  had  had  enough  of  disappointment  and  un 
certainty. 

"You  don't  look  stout,"  said  he,  "but  you 
ought  to  be  able  to  mow  away  an'  rake  after." 
Well,  I  made  a  bargain  with  him,  and  went  to 
work  at  once.  My  first  task  was  to  lead  a  great 
bull  to  water.  He  stood  in  the  stable  with  a 
ring  in  his  nose,  and  roared  as  I  took  him  out. 
It  was  like  leading  a  thunder-storm,  but  I  thought 
of  what  General  Washington  would  have  done, 
and  walked  without  flinching.  I  was  surprised 
to  see  how  easily  I  could  handle  the  big  bull 
with  that  ring  in  his  nose.  After  this  initiation 
the  harvesters — big,  cordy  fellows — tried  to  bury 

63 


The    Hand-Made  Gentleman 

me  in  the  mow.  They  always  did  that  with  a 
fresh  hand, ' '  to  see  what  he  was  made  of."  Well, 
I  kept  my  head  and  shoulders  above  the  grain, 
although  they  had  given  me  a  fork  with  three 
corners  on  the  stale.  It  was  a  hard  pace  they 
set  me,  and  I  lay  down  at  night  like  a  wounded 
soldier. 

I  slept  with  the  hired  man,  who  had  taken  me 
to  my  room  when  I  arrived,  with  all  my  pride 
upon  me.  He  was  a  big,  friendly  fellow  with 
bristling  red  hair,  who  bore  the  proud,  sonorous 
name  of  Sam.  He  had  forgotten  to  remove  the 
puppy — so  he  said — and  thought  it  all  an  ex 
cellent  joke. 

He  indulged  in  autobiography  as  I  lay  yawn 
ing — led  me  through  his  career  to  romantic 
scenes  where  he  first  met  his  girl  and  "took  a 
shine  to  her." 

"  I  wished,"  said  he,  after  a  moment  of  silence, 
"that  you'd  write  a  letter  for  me  which  I  could 
copy  and  send  to  her.  I  want  it  worded  right  up 
to  the  mark.  You've  got  learnin',  an'  will  know 
how  to  write  a  good,  respectable,  high-toned 
letter." 

I  agreed  to  do  my  best  for  him. 

Mr.  Baker  called  us  at  four,  and  we  dressed 
and  went  into  the  garden  and  dug  potatoes  until 
breakfast  -  time.  So  each  day  began,  its  work 

64 


Cricket,  the   Lover,  and  the  Potato-Sack 

continuing  in  field,  mow,  and  milking-yard  until 
dark. 

Next  evening,  when  we  went  to  our  room,  with 
pen  and  ink  I  sat  down  to  write  the  letter  for  him. 

"  To  Miss  Fannie  Comstock,  Summerville,  New 
York,"  he  dictated,  in  a  whisper.  "Dear  Miss." 

He  sat  a  moment  thinking. 

"Tell  her  I  ain't  forgot  her,"  he  went  on, 
"and  that  I  am  well  an'  hope  you're  the  same, 
an'  so  on  an'  so  forth." 

So  I  began  the  letter  as  follows: 

DEAR  Miss, — It  is  only  a  month  since  we  parted, 
but  it  has  been  the  longest  month  in  my  life,  and  al 
though  I  am  far  away  it  will  surprise  you  to  learn 
that  I  see  you  often.  I  see  you  in  the  fields  every  day 
and  in  my  dreams  every  night. 

"I  don't  think  that  will  do,"  he  demurred, 
soberly,  when  I  read  it  to  him. 

"Why  not?"  was  my  query. 

"  Well,  it  don't  seem  as  if  it  was  exactly  proper 
an'  good  sense,"  he  continued,  in  all  seriousness. 
"The  month  ain't  had  any  more  'n  thirty-one 
days  in  it — that's  sure." 

I  tried  again  with  better  understanding,  and 
this  came  of  it: 

DEAR  Miss, — I  write  these  lines  to  let  you  know  that 
I  am  well  and  that  I  haven't  forgotten  you.     I  hope 
s  65 


The   Hand-Made   Gentleman 

that  you  are  well  and  that  you  haven't  forgotten  me. 
I  am  working  on  a  farm,  and  am  as  happy  as  could  be 
expected. 

"That's  good,"  said  he,  when  I  read  it  to  him; 
and  added,  proudly,  with  his  finger  on  the  un 
finished  line,  "Wages,  thirty  dollars  a  month." 

I  did  as  he  wished. 

"  Now  go  on,"  he  suggested.  "  Throw  in  a  big 
word  once  in  a  while." 

"Aren't  you  going  to  say  anything  about  love  ?" 
I  asked.  "A  little  poem  might  please  her." 

"Go  light  on  that,"  he  answered,  doubtfully. 
"She's  respectable." 

It  is  a  trait  of  the  common  clay  of  which  Sam 
was  made  to  consider  love  a  thing  to  be  reluc 
tantly,  if  ever,  confessed.  When  the  grand  pas 
sion  showed  itself  in  his  conduct  it  was  greeted 
with  jeers  and  rude  laughter.  It  became,  there 
fore,  a  hidden,  timid  thing. 

"Nonsense!"  I  exclaimed;  "she  can't  be  more 
respectable  than  love  and  poetry.  If  you  love 
her  you  ought  not  to  be  ashamed  of  it." 

"Well,  throw  in  a  little  if  you  think  best," 
he  yielded,  "but  do  it  careful." 

So  the  letter  continued: 

Lately  I've  been  saving  my  money.  Perhaps  you  can 
guess  why.  I  want  a  home  and  some  one  to  help  me 

66 


Cricket,  the  Lover,  and  the  Potato-Sack 

make  it  happy,  and  I  believe  I've  found  her.  She  is 
good  and  beautiful,  and  all  that  a  woman  should  be- 
Do  you  want  to  know  who  it  is  ?  Well,  that's  a  secret. 
She's  a  lady,  and  that's  all  I  will  tell  you  now.  Fannie, 
you're  a  friend  of  mine,  and  I  need  your  advice.  I  am 
a  little  frightened  and  don't  know  just  what  to  say  to 
her,  and  you  could  make  it  easy  for  me  if  you  would. 
Please  let  me  know  when  I  can  see  you. 


Sam  shook  his  head  and  laughed  and  ex 
claimed,  "That's  business!" 

"No,  it's  love,"  I  objected. 

"Well,  it  ain't  foolish  or  unproper,  an'  it 
sounds  kind  o'  comical.  She'll  want  to  know  all 
about  it.  Put  in  that  I'm  goin'  to  take  a  farm 
an'  be  my  own  boss,  an'  have  as  good  a  horse 
an'  buggy  as  any  one.  That  makes  it  kind  o' 
temptin'." 

I  did  as  he  wished. 

"Now  say,  'Yours  truly,  with  respect,'"  said 
he,  and  so  my  task  was  ended. 

Three  days  later  he  came  to  me  in  high  spirits, 
with  a  letter  in  his  hand. 

"  I'm  goin'  to  see  Fannie  to-morrow,"  he  said, 
in  a  whisper.  "  If  Sam  Whittemore  can  do  any 
thing  for  you,  I  want  to  know  it." 

His  opportunity  came  that  evening.  I  was 
doing  my  chores  in  the  barn.  Suddenly  Sam 
burst  upon  me. 

67 


The   Hand-Made   Gentleman 

"They're  after  you!"  he  whispered. 

"Who?"  I  asked. 

"Two  men  in  a  buggy — they've  heard  you 
were  here." 

I  had  told  him  of  my  trouble,  and  now  it 
threatened  to  engulf  me.  Would  I  give  myself 
up  and  go  home  with  the  officers?  I  could  not 
bear  the  thought  of  going  home  like  a  felon.  It 
would  kill  my  mother.  This  all  flashed  through 
my  brain  in  a  jiffy,  while  the  dusk  air  seemed  to 
be  full  of  chains  and  handcuffs.  I  started  to 
climb  a  ladder. 

"No  use,"  said  he,  as  he  picked  up  an  empty 
sack.  "They  know  you're  here.  Get  into  this 
sack." 

A  wagon  stood  on  the  barn  floor  loaded  with 
potatoes,  in  big  sacks.  Sam  was  holding  the 
empty  sack.  I  stepped  into  it  and  sat  with  my 
chin  between  my  knees  while  he  stuffed  a  bundle 
of  straw  all  around  me.  Then  he  cut  two  holes 
near  the  top  of  the  sack,  to  give  me  air  and  an 
outlook,  tied  it  above  my  head,  and  flung  me  on 
the  load  of  potatoes.  It  was  all  done  in  the 
shake  of  a  lamb's  tail,  as  they  used  to  say. 

"The  old  man  is  going  to  drive  to  Sackett's 
Harbor  to-night  with  these  potatoes,"  he  whis 
pered.  "You  go  on  to  Summerville;  I'll  meet 
you  there  to-morrow." 

68 


Cricket,  the  Lover,  and  the  Potato-Sack 

Then  he  left  me,  and  I  lay  quietly  on  the  load. 

"He  isn't  in  there,"  I  heard  him  say,  on  his 
way  to  the  house. 

Well,  they  did  some  searching  and  tramping 
about  for  the  next  half-hour  or  so.  By-and-by 
they  put  the  team  on  the  wagon-pole,  and  we 
began  our  journey — the  potatoes  and  I.  They 
nudged  me  while  the  wagon  rattled  over  stones 
in  the  stable- yard,  as  if  they  wished  me  to  move 
along;  but  we  came  soon  to  smoother  going. 
Darkness  had  fallen,  and  through  the  peep-holes 
in  my  sack  I  could  see  moonlight  and  a  small 
section  of  the  Milky  Way.  My  discomfort  set 
me  to  work  planning  relief.  I  drew  the  new 
jack-knife,  which  I  had  bought  in  my  one  day 
of  plenty,  and  cut  two  long  slits  in  the  bottom 
of  the  sack  and  gave  my  feet  their  freedom.  With 
my  legs  protruding  a  sense  of  the  dearness  of 
life  returned  to  me.  Two  more  slits  in  the  sack 
enabled  me  to  put  my  arms  out  and  to  move 
freely  on  the  load.  I  lay  quietly  for  an  hour  or 
so,  and  then  thought  I  would  try  sitting  up.  So 
I  rose  and  adjusted  my  peep-holes  and  stared 
about  me.  My  employer  sat  on  one  end  of  the 
seat,  singing.  Soon  I  could  hear  only  the  creak 
of  the  whiffletrees  and  the  rattle  of  the  wheels. 
The  reins,  which  were  looped  over  a  shoulder, 
fell  limp,  and  he  began  to  snore. 

69 


The  Hand-Made   Gentleman 

I  could  hear  the  distant  roar  of  a  railroad 
train.  It  was  coming  nearer,  and  where  was 
the  crossing?  A  sense  of  prudence  caused  me 
to  climb  to  the  seat  and  take  the  reins.  I  did 
this  gently,  and  without  waking  him.  I  had  -  a 
fear  of  falling  in  with  more  officers,  and  kept  my 
sack  on  me  and  listened  for  teams.  If  I  should 
hear  one  coming  I  would  resume  my  place  on 
the  load,  and  draw  in  my  legs  and  arms  like  a 
turtle.  Completely  taken  up  with  my  plans  and 
perils,  it  never  occurred  to  me  that  I  was  one 
of  the  most  uncanny  creatures  that  ever  went 
abroad  in  the  night.  Suddenly  I  heard  a  swift 
movement  beside  me,  and  turned  my  head.  My 
companion  had  awakened,  and  was  crowding  as 
far  away  as  possible,  his  mouth  and  eyes  wide 
open. 

He  gave  a  great  gasp,  and,  before  I  could  find 
words  to  calm  him,  shouted:  "Land!  What's 
this?"  and  leaped  from  the  wagon.  It  was  a 
wonder — the  swiftness  of  him. 

"  Don't  be  afraid!"  I  called,  as  I  checked 
the  horses.  "It's  I  —  Cricket  Heron.  I  got 
away  in  a  potato  -  sack  and  came  on  the 
load." 

He  stood  a  moment  looking  up  at  me,  and 
gasping  for  breath.  "Cricket  Heron!"  he  ex 
claimed,  presently,  and  stood  gazing  up  at  me  in 

70 


Cricket,  the  Lover,  and  the  Potato-Sack 

silence  for  half  a  moment,  and  supporting  him 
self  on  a  front  wheel. 

"Say,  boy,"  said  he,  in  a  voice  that  betrayed 
his  agitation,  "  excuse  me,  but  you'll  have  to 
find  other  company.  You've  wore  me  out." 

He  paused  half  a  moment  for  breath,  and 
went  on: 

"  When  a  sack  o'  potatoes  sets  down  beside  ye 
an'  opens  conversation,  it's  a  little  more  than  I 
can  stan'."  He  resumed  his  seat  and  took  a 
look  at  me,  and  added,  with  a  laugh,  "You'd 
scare  the  devil." 

In  a  few  words  I  told  my  story,  and  he  seemed 
to  believe  and  to  pity  me.  He  put  a  few  queries, 
and  I  answered  freely. 

"You  better  go  home  an'  tell  the  truth  about 
it,"  he  said,  as  he  hurried  the  horses.  "The 
only  thing  I  don't  like  about  you  is  your  runnin' 
away.  God  hates  a  coward,  an'  He  don't  seem 
to  care  if  a  coward  suffers.  Take  that  thing  off. 
Be  a  man;  don't  be  a  sack  o'  potatoes.  You'd 
cheat  the  man  that  bought  ye  for  two  bushels 
o'  potatoes.  They're  worth  more  than  a  cow 
ard." 

He  untied  the  string  above  my  head,  and  I 
took  off  the  sack.  The  lights  of  the  village  were 
just  ahead.  He  drove  to  a  store  whose  proprietor 
was  awaiting  him.  There  he  paid  me  the  sum 


The  Hand-Made   Gentleman 

of  six  dollars  for  my  work,  and  I  left  him  and 
went  to  a  small  inn. 

So  ended  the  adventure  of  the  potato-sack. 
It  taught  me  that  a  man  is  never  so  good  as  the 
thing  he  tries  to  be,  whether  it  is  a  hero  or  a 
sack  of  potatoes. 


ADVENTURE  VIII 


IN    WHICH    CRICKET    MEETS    THE     COLONEL    AND 
THE   YOUNG   MISS 

LAY  until  after  midnight  groping 
in  the  mine  of  thought  which  Mr. 
Baker  had  laid  open.  It  was  a 
new  kind  of  exercise,  and,  for  one 
thing,  after  digging  in  my  conceit 
awhile,  I  found  a  brain.  It  was  not  a  large 
find,  but  there  are  some,  surely,  who  go  through 
life  without  as  good  luck.  It  was  the  most 
impudent  brain  I  ever  knew. 

"  You're  a  fool  and  a  coward,"  it  seemed  to  say 
to  me.     "What  are  you  going  to  do?" 
"Look  for  employment,"  I  suggested. 
"That's  what  I'm  doing,  and  you're  the  only 
one  in  the  world  who  can  give  it.     Try  me." 

And  I  did — thought  it  all  over,  and  began  to 
make  rules  for  the  regulation  of  my  conduct. 
Thereafter  I  would  be  brave;  no  more  skulking 
for  me. 

I  was  up  at  daybreak  with  a  new  tone  in  my 
73 


The  Hand-Made   Gentleman 

voice.  That  morning  I  spent  half  of  my  money 
for  a  new  flannel  shirt  and  some  fresh  underwear. 
I  felt  very  brave  and  careless  when  I  started  for 
Summerville  with  the  village  behind  me.  It  was 
a  walk  of  seven  miles,  and  nothing  happened 
except  Sam,  who  had  driven  over  in  a  buggy 
and  come  down  the  road  to  meet  me.  He  was 
dressed  up,  and  had  a  dreamy  eye  and  a  red  face. 

"What  luck?"  I  queried. 

"Ain't  seen  her  yet,"  he  said.  "Get  in  here. 
I'm  so  scairt  I'm  all  of  a  tremble.  You  got 
through  all  right?" 

"Yes." 

"So  the  old  man  said.  Thought  he'd  die 
laughin'  'bout  the  potato-sack." 

"He  cured  me  of  being  a  coward." 

"Wish  he  could  cure  me,"  said  Sam  Whitte- 
more.  "  I  ain't  afraid  o'  man  or  beast,  or  any 
thing  but  a  woman." 

"Women  won't  hurt  you,"  I  argued. 

"  No,  but  they  can  make  ye  awful  'shamed." 

It  seemed  very  curious — the  timidity  of  this 
big,  powerful  man.  I  had  seen  him  handle  a  ton 
of  wheat  in  five  minutes. 

"They  all  look  dangerous  to  me,"  he  added. 
Then  he  sighed  and  exclaimed,  "Heavens  to 
Betsey!" 

"Isn't  Fannie  willing  to  marry  you?"  I  asked. 
74 


Cricket,  the  Colonel,  and  the  Young  Miss 

"  Looks  that  way,  but  maybe  she's  only  fool- 
in'."  He  shook  his  head  nervously,  and  added: 
"  If  she  was  you'd  see  me  light  out.  I  wouldn't 
stop  runnin'  this  side  o'  Calif orney." 

"Don't  be  afraid,"  was  my  ready  counsel. 
"She  wants  to  marry  you  or  she  wouldn't  have 
asked  you  to  come." 

As  if  inspired  with  new  courage,  he  drew  up 
the  reins  and  touched  his  horse  with  the  whip. 

"I'll  ask  her  if  it  kills  me,"  he  said,  his  brow 
wrinkling  with  determination. 

Neither  spoke  until  we  entered  the  little  vil 
lage  of  Summerville.  He  left  me  at  the  hotel, 
where  I  was  to  wait  for  him. 

"Goin'  up  to  see  her,"  he  said,  in  low,  half- 
whispered  tones.  "I'll  ask  her  to  take  a  ride 
with  me.  Oh,  I  forgot!  A  letter  come  for  you 
this  mornin';  here  it  is.  An',  say,  one  o'  them 
men  that  come  last  night  said  that  he  was  a 
friend  o'  yours." 

"A  friend  of  mine!" 

"Yes,  but  I  didn't  believe  him.  I  guess  he 
was  tryin'  to  fox  me." 

I  opened  the  letter  as  he  drove  away  and  read 
as  follows: 

MY  DEAR  SON, — I  believe  all  you  say,  and  am  very 
sorry  for  you.  It  is  a  grief  and  a  wonder  to  me  that 

75 


The    Hand-Made   Gentleman 

you  didn't  turn  back  and  let  him  go  his  own  way  when 
you  saw  that  he  was  a  law-breaker.  You  wouldn't 
have  missed  the  watch  as  much  as  you  miss  me  and 
your  self-respect.  You  remember  what  I  said  to  you 
about  taking  up  with  people  you  don't  know.  Since 
you  have  chosen  not  to  follow  my  counsel,  I  presume 
you  have  found  your  own  better  than  mine.  If  that 
is  true,  I  shall  need  your  advice,  and  will  rely  upon  you 
to  guide  me  in  every  time  of  difficulty.  You  have 
strong  hands  and  have  learned  how  to  use  them.  You 
have  many  friends  and  a  mother  who  will  do  any 
thing  she  can  for  you.  But  we  must  reap  as  we  sow. 
You  should  retrace  your  own  steps  in  the  wrong  road 
and  find  your  way  back.  God  help  you!  Come  as 
soon  as  you  can  and  tell  the  truth,  and  be  not  afraid. 
Truth  will  beat  all  the  lawyers.  If  you  should  be  sick 
let  me  know,  and  I  will  come  to  you.  Tell  me  where  to 
send  clothing  for  your  comfort.  I  send  a  little  money 
and  much  love. 

That  letter  was  a  godsend.  I  was  inclined  to 
agree  with  Sam  that  women  can  make  one 
"awful  'shamed."  My  young  manhood  really 
began  that  day.  I  put  the  money,  which  would 
have  paid  my  fare  to  Heartsdale,  in  my  stocking, 
and  determined  not  to  use  it.  I  would  find  my 
own  way  back  to  her. 

An  hour  or  so  later  Sam  returned  with  a  cheer 
ful  look. 

"We're  goin'  to  be  married,"  he  whispered, 
as  he  almost  broke  my  hand. 

"When?" 

76 


Cricket,  the  Colonel,  and  the  Young  Miss 

"Next  week,  Monday,  an'  we're  goin'  to 
Niagara  Falls.  It's  a  big  excursion,  an'  costs 
only  a  dollar  an'  sixty  cents." 

Niagara  Falls!     The  great  water-hammers! 

"I  wish  I  could  go  with  you,"  I  suggested. 

"Come  on,"  said  he;  "we'll  have  a  grand 
time.  But  you  must  go  to  the  weddin' — you'll 
kind  o'  steady  me." 

I  was  thrilled  by  what  lay  before  me,  for  now 
I  should  see  the  Falls  and  the  fleet  horses. 

"  If  I  can  earn  my  board,  I'll  stay  where  I  am 
until  Monday,"  I  said. 

"Wait  a  minute,"  said  he.  "I'm  goin'  to  see 
the  landlord.  He's  an  old  friend  o'  mine." 

Well,  within  five  minutes  Sam  got  a  job  for 
me.  I  was  to  look  after  the  billiard-tables,  and 
to  receive  my  board  for  my  labor  until  we  went 
away. 

That  evening  an  elderly  man  of  distinguished 
appearance  sat  in  the  billiard-room. 

"Who  are  you,  my  boy?"  he  asked. 

I  told  him  my  name  and  where  I  lived,  and 
that  I  was  going  to  the  Falls,  Monday,  and  work 
ing  for  my  board  meanwhile. 

"Ah,  ha!"  said  he,  stroking  his  white  mus 
tache  and  imperial,  "so  you're  from  the  land  of 
Silas  Wright?" 

"Yes,  sir," 

77 


The   Hand-Made  Gentleman 

He  asked  about  certain  good  people  that 
he  had  known  in  my  county,  and  then  said: 
"This  is  no  kind  of  work  for  you  to  be  doing. 
Pack  your  grip  and  come  home  with  me.  You 
may  share  my  room,  and  stay  as  long  as  you 
like." 

Well,  the  end  of  it  was  that  I  went  home  with 
Colonel  Busby — that  being  his  name — soldier, 
orator,  philosopher.  He  and  his  daughter — a 
girl  of  about  my  age — were  alone  in  the  house 
with  one  servant. 

"Jo,"  said  he  to  the  girl,  as  we  entered,  "this 
is  a  high -stepper  from  St.  Lawrence  County, 
and  a  friend  of  mine.  His  name  is  Cricket 
Heron." 

The  girl  gave  me  her  hand,  and  said,  laugh 
ingly,  that  her  name  was  Josephine.  She  was 
tall  and  slender,  and  I  remember  thinking  that 
she  had  almost  a  woman's  look  in  her  dark 
eyes. 

After  supper  the  Colonel  said  he  was  going  over 
town  and  would  return  presently. 

His  daughter  made  me  feel  at  home,  and  had 
pretty  manners,  and  a  sweet,  girlish  way  of  talk 
ing,  and  that  charm  of  youth  which  has  no  sus 
picion  of  its  riches. 

First  of  all,  I  think  of  her  mouth — perfect  in 
its  curves  and  color.  Out  of  it  came  joy  and 

78 


Cricket,  the  Colonel,  and  the  Young  Miss 

careless  words  set  in  wonderful  music.  What  a 
voice!  Upon  my  honor,  sometimes  it  was  like 
a  scale  played  on  the  flute.  We  all  know  the 
music — that  ringing  of  the  golden  bowl  of  youth 
when  Pleasure  touches  it,  and  know,  too,  how 
soon  the  bowl  is  broken.  She  sang  and  played 
upon  the  guitar,  and  talked,  and  this,  above 
all,  I  remember:  she  seemed  unconscious  of 
herself  and  of  her  power  over  my  foolish  heart. 
We  compared  our  knowledge  of  poetry  and  ro 
mance,  our  aims  and  ideals,  our  tastes  and 
pleasures. 

But  the  Colonel  came  not,  although  the  clock 
had  struck  eleven.  She  suggested  that  I  might 
wish  to  retire.  It  was  a  thought  of  her,  and  not 
of  myself,  that  led  me  to  rise  and  say  that  I  was 
ready.  She  lighted  a  candle  and  showed  me  to 
my  room.  I  went  to  bed  thinking  that,  after 
all,  my  Mary  was  not  her  equal. 

An  hour  or  so  later  the  Colonel's  voice  awoke 
me.  He  was  calling  my  name  in  a  loud,  im 
perative  tone,  and  tramping  about  the  house  as 
if  in  search  of  me.  I  lay  still,  not  knowing  what 
to  do.  Soon  the  Colonel  entered  my  room  with 
a  candle  in  his  hand. 

"Heron,  you  rascal,  get  out  of  this  room!" 
said  he,  loudly.  "Didn't  I  say  you  were  to 
sleep  with  me?" 

79 


The    Hand-Made  Gentleman 

Before  I  could  answer  he  had  gathered  up  my 
shoes  and  stockings  and  flung  them  into  the 
hall.  He  took  my  clothing  under  his  arm  while 
I  got  out  of  bed. 

"Forward,  march!"  he  commanded,  and  I  fol 
lowed  through  the  dusky  halls  to  his  bedroom 
in  silence.  I  observed  that  he  walked  unsteadily, 
and  I  knew  the  nature  of  his  affliction  and  felt 
some  fear  of  him. 

"Heron,"  said  he,  with  great  frankness,  "I 
want  company — I  need  you  right  here." 

He  sang  loudly,  as  I  helped  him  to  draw  his 
boots : 

"  '  'Tis  the  last  rose  of  summer  left  blooming  alone.'  " 

In  a  moment  he  rose  and  seized  me  by  the 
shoulders  and  crowded  me  against  the  wall,  by 
way  of  demonstrating  his  strength. 

"You  are  iron,  boy,  but  I  am  steel,"  he  said, 
between  his  teeth,  as  he  lightly  thumped  my 
head  upon  the  figured  paper.  I  made  no  an 
swer. 

The  severe  look  in  his  face  turned  to  smiles 
in  half  a  moment.  He  showed  me  his  wounds — 
a  saber  slash  on  his  head,  and  a  number  of  scars 
cut  by  bullets  and  flying  fragments  of  shell.  He 
asked  me  to  feel  his  biceps,  and  I  did  so,  not 

80 


Cricket,  the  Colonel,  and  the  Young  Miss 

wishing  to  be  impolite.  Before  I  could  step 
aside  he  had  my  head  in  chancery,  and  was 
making  a  new  demonstration.  The  candle  was 
knocked  to  the  floor,  and  I  struggled  with 
Colonel  Busby  in  the  darkness,  feeling  a  dreadful 
uncertainty  of  his  plans.  Soon  he  had  pushed 
me  into  a  corner,  where  I  stood  clinging  to  his 
waist. 

"Unhand  me,  villain!"  he  commanded,  and 
we  released  each  other  and  I  relighted  the 
candle. 

The  Colonel  took  off  his  tie  and  collar,  and  as 
he  did  so  whispered  gruffly,  and  with  a  playful 
wagging  of  his  head: 

"'How  ill  that  taper  burns!  Ha!  who  comes 
there  ?  Cold  drops  of  sweat  hang  on  my  trem 
bling  flesh.  My  blood  grows  chilly,  and  I  freeze 
with  horror.": 

I  saw  that  it  was  all  a  kind  of  harmless  frolic, 
and  soon  he  proposed  that  we  "knit  up  the 
ravelled  sleeve  of  care." 

We  got  into  bed,  and  fortunately  the  Colonel 
soon  fell  asleep.  I  had  rather  a  bad  night  of  it, 
for  he  snored  and  muttered,  and  was,  on  the 
whole,  an  irksome  creature.  In  the  morning  he 
said  little,  and  sat  with  a  look  of  sadness.  He 
went  into  the  garden  after  breakfast,  and  Jo 
said  to  me: 

*  81 


The   Hand-Made  Gentleman 

"I'm  sorry  my  father  disturbed  you.  I  didn't 
think  he  would  do  it." 

"Oh,  that's  nothing,"  I  assured  her,  bravely. 
"I  hope  it  doesn't  worry  you." 

But  I  could  see  that  my  words  had  not  relieved 
her  unhappiness. 

She  went  to  school,  and  I  spent  the  day  writ 
ing  letters — one  to  my  mother  and  one  to  Mr. 
McCarthy,  in  both  of  which  I  set  down  much 
that  I  have  tried  to  tell  you.  Then  I  composed 
a  verse  and  engrossed  it  with  great  care.  For 
such  folly — praise  God — I  had  always  a  keen 
relish. 

Again  that  evening  the  Colonel  left  us,  and  I 
helped  the  pretty  girl  with  her  lessons,  and  we 
had  two  more  wistful  hours,  the  like  of  which 
one  remembers  with  thankfulness  and  a  sad 
smile.  Where  should  I  look  to  match  them? 
Surely  not  in  my  own  life,  long  as  it  has  been. 
She  sighed  when  I  spoke  of  leaving,  and  a  little 
tremble  in  her  lips  said  so  much  to  me — things 
rich  with  meaning  and  mystery. 

"I'll  have  to  help  in  the  kitchen  next  week," 
said  she,  with  an  air  of  responsibility.  "Fannie, 
our  cook,  is  to  be  married." 

"Her  name  is  Comstock?" 

"Yes." 

"I  know  all  about  it — Sam  told  me." 
82 


Cricket,  the  Colonel,  and  the  Young  Miss 

"Sam!"  she  exclaimed,  with  a  look  of  con 
tempt.  "He  kept  her  waiting  three  years  be 
cause  he  hadn't  the  courage  to  propose." 

Then  I  told  her  of  my  adventures,  and  how 
they  led  to  Sam,  and  how  Sam  had  straightway 
led  me  to  her,  or,  at  least,  so  near  that  we  could 
not  help  meeting.  I  told  her  of  our  life  at 
Baker's,  but  said  not  a  word  of  the  letter — that 
seemed  to  me  a  sacred  confidence.  However,  I 
did  tell  of  Sam's  fear  when  he  reached  Summer- 
ville.  She  thought  it  very  foolish  of  him. 

"I  should  think  that  would  be  the  best  part 
of  it — asking  her  to  marry  him  and  telling  about 
his  love,"  said  she,  turning  serious  and  feeling 
her  beads. 

"What  kind  of  a  man  would  you  prefer?"  I 
bravely  inquired. 

"Let  me  see,"  she  said,  leaning  her  chin  upon 
her  hands  in  a  thoughtful  and  pretty  pose.  ' '  Of 
course,  he  must  be  good,  and  he  really  must  be 
handsome  and  tall  and  strong  and  brave,  and  I 
want  him  to  be  a  great  man ;  and  I  am  studying 
very,  very  hard  so  that  I  can  help  him  to  be 
great." 

I  sat  in  silence  for  a  little  time,  full  of  sad 
thoughts.  I  was  neither  handsome  nor  tall  nor 
brave,  but  sometimes  I  had  thought  myself  ex 
ceedingly  good.  As  to  becoming  great,  that 

83 


The  Hand-Made    Gentleman 

was  another  respect  in  which  I  felt  strong  and 
confident. 

I  was  undersized — yes,  a  little  undersized.  I 
would  grow  some,  however — possibly  to  six  feet ; 
who  could  tell?  But — my  face — there  was  no 
dodging  that.  It  was  plain,  very  plain,  I  could 
see  that  myself,  and  my  hair  did  not  curl  and 
was  too  light,  and  my  beard  was  not  yet 
born. 

Jo  interrupted  my  thoughts.  She  began  to 
clap  her  hands  in  a  sudden  outburst  of  en 
thusiasm. 

"I  have  a  grand  idea!"  she  said.  "We'll  give 
Fannie  a  little  wedding  here  if  father  will  let  us. 
I  think  it  would  be  great  fun." 

For  half  an  hour  or  so  we  sat,  making  plans 
for  the  wedding.  Before  going  to  bed,  in  the 
C6lonel's  room,  I  gave  her  my  horruck — an  act 
of  great  generosity.  I  promised  to  tell  her  all 
about  it  if  she  could  solve  the  riddle,  and  she 
said  that  she  would  try. 

I  went  to  bed,  and  the  Colonel  returned  short 
ly,  very  bad.  I  had  drawn  his  boots  and  re 
marked  that  he  looked  weary,  when  sudden 
ly  he  rose  and  picked  up  a  foil  and  began  to 
thrust  and  parry  with  a  hand  raised  behind  him. 

"Ah,  you  insult  me,  sir!"  he  hissed,  as  he 
danced  on  tiptoes  in  the  attitude  of  a  fencer, 

84 


Cricket,  the  Colonel,  and  the  Young  Miss 

and  drove  me  across  the  room.  He  stopped 
suddenly,  his  point  on  the  floor,  in  a  haughty 
pose,  and  demanded,  "Will  you  have  a  blade, 
sir,  and  a  bout  with  me?" 

"  I  do  not  know  how  to  fence,"  I  said. 

"Ah — then  you  are  forgiven,"  said  he,  with 
a  loving  smile  and  a  jaunty  swing  of  his  head. 
"But,  mind  you — mind  you,  I  cannot  brook  an 
insult." 

Before  the  light  was  extinguished  he  sent  his 
voice  roaring  through  the  still  house  in  two  lines 
of  The  Last  Rose  of  Summer. 

We  got  into  bed,  and  as  soon  as  I  could  de 
cently  do  it  I  feigned  sleep,  to  avoid  conver 
sation. 

I  lay  thinking  for  hours  after  the  Colonel  had 
gone  to  sleep — hours,  indeed,  of  fearful  expecta 
tion.  It  was  awful  to  room  with  a  man  like 
Colonel  Busby,  but,  after  all,  it  was  a  good  school 
ing  in  bravery,  and  the  time  had  come  when  I 
must  be  brave.  I  longed  for  perils,  and  for 
even  a  wound  or  two.  If  there  should  be  a  war 
I  would  enlist,  if  possible,  and  show  her  how 
brave  I  could  be.  Perhaps,  if  I  became  very 
brave  and  good  and  strong  and  great,  she  would 
forgive  my  lack  of  size  and  beauty. 

In  the  midst  of  these  reflections  my  com 
panion  lay  groaning  with  nightmare,  and  this 

85 


The    Hand-Made  Gentleman 

further  thought  came  to  me  that,  hard  as  it  was 
to  be  his  friend,  it  would  be  still  more  terrible 
to  be  Colonel  Busby  himself. 

To  such  a  hopeful  state  of  mind  my  last  ad 
venture  had  brought  me. 


ADVENTURE  IX 


WHICH  DESCRIBES  THE  COERCION  OF  SAM  AND  HIS 
WEDDING   JOURNEY 

O  went  the  days  and  nights  with 
us  there  in  the  home  of  Colonel 
Busby,  and  I  am  nearly  through 
with  them. 

One   morning   Jo    said  to   me: 
"I'm  sorry  that  father  behaved  so  last  night. 
It's  dreadful.     Did  he  hurt  you?" 
"Not  a  bit,"  was  my  answer. 
"You  are  as  brave  as  you  can  be,"  she  went 
on,    with   a   look   of   shame   and   sorrow.     "It 
worries    me    terribly.     Oh,  dear!     I     wouldn't 
marry  a  man  who  drinks  for  all  the  money  in 
the  world." 

"You'd  need  it  to  repair  the  furniture,"  I 
suggested,  full  of  a  great  joy  that  she  thought 
me  brave. 

Her  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  I  remember 
well  the  tender  dignity  with  which  I  took  her 
hand  and  tried  to  comfort  her.  It  was  a  pretty 

87 


The  Hand-Made   Gentleman 

picture,    upon    my    word — the    boy    and    the 
maiden,  and  both  so  clean-hearted. 

Well,  now,  as  to  Sam  and  the  wedding.  We 
invited  a  number  of  Fannie's  friends,  who  were 
servants  in  the  neighborhood,  and  made  a  mon 
ster  cake  and  some  ice-cream.  Sam  arrived 
early,  red  and  uncomfortable,  and  looking  very 
new  in  a  fresh  suit  of  clothes.  His  voice,  even, 
was  afraid  to  show  itself,  as  one  might  say.  He 
held  it  down  near  a  whisper  and  had  a  watch 
ful  eye. 

Jo  and  a  few  of  her  school-girl  friends  had 
decorated  the  parlor,  and  spread  a  table  in  the 
dining-room  with  refreshments.  Now  they  stood 
looking  at  Sam. 

His  eyes  filled  with  alarm  as  we  laid  our  plans 
before  him. 

"I  ain't  broke  to  this  kind  o'  thing,"  he  said, 
"an'  I'm  scairt  clear  through.  Maybe  it  could 
be  put  off  until  I'm  nerved  up  a  little." 

"No,  indeed,"  said  Jo,  as  she  locked  the  door 
and  faced  about  with  a  saucy  look  in  her  eyes. 
"  You've  simply  got  to  be  married  at  ten  o'clock. 
You  might  as  well  make  up  your  mind  to  it  first 
as  last.  You've  kept  Fannie  waiting  for  three 
years,  and  now  you're  going  to  be  married." 

Poor  Sam  shook  his  head  and  smiled,  and 
looked  rather  foolish  and  unhappy. 

88 


Sam   and   His   Wedding  Journey 

"  You  needn't  be  afraid,"  Jo  went  on.  "  We're 
not  going  to  hurt  you.  We're  just  going  to 
marry  you,  and  I  should  think  you'd  be  very 
happy.  Fannie  is  a  good  girl,  and  a  sweet-look 
ing  girl,  too,  and  she'll  be  a  help  to  you." 

It  was  as  good  as  a  play  to  hear  her  talk  to 
him.  Sam  had  an  anxious  look,  and  was,  in  a 
way,  like  one  condemned. 

"I'd  like,"  said  he,  with  just  a  little  emphasis 
on  the  like — "  I'd  like  to  go  over  to  the  village  a 
minute." 

"  I'm  sorry,  but  there  isn't  time,"  Jo  answered. 
She  was  gentle  but  firm. 

"I'm  no  coward,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  that 
trembled  a  little,  "but — I  ain't  used  to  women." 

"Poor  thing!"  said  Jo,  with  just  a  touch  of 
contempt  for  him.  "You've  got  to  get  used  to 
them,  and  I'll  give  you  the  first  lesson.  Stand 
where  you  are." 

Fannie,  a  comely,  red-cheeked  girl  of  about 
his  age,  had  entered  the  room.  Jo  took  her  arm 
and  led  her  up  to  Sam. 

"  Now  give  him  a  good  kiss,"  the  little  wretch 
commanded. 

Fannie  gave  him  a  kiss,  but  he  stood  unmoved 
save  that  his  face  grew  redder. 

"Oh,  it's  not  fair  to  take  a  kiss  without  re 
turning  it.  That's  cheating,"  Jo  protested. 

89    ' 


The   Hand-Made    Gentleman 

He  kissed  her,  but  with  such  a  sober  counte 
nance!  It  suggested  retaliation. 

"Brave  Sam! — you're  learning,"  Jo  said  to 
him.  She  put  her  pretty  hand  in  his,  and  added, 
soothingly:  "  Be  brave,  Sam;  be  brave  and  cheer 
up;  nobody  will  hurt  you.  When  the  minister 
comes  you  will  stand  here,  and  Fannie  will  stand 
beside  you — like  that.  Please  keep  your  hands 
down  at  your  side — so — and  remember  you 
must  pay  attention  to  the  minister." 

Poor,  old,  good-hearted  Sam^.  It  was  like 
bitting  a  horse,  and  he  needed  it. 

Well,  he  played  his  part  rather  poorly,  but 
the  wedding  was  successful  in  its  main  purpose, 
and  Sam  hurried  away  to  bring  his  horse  and 
buggy.  He  ran  as  he  left  the  door-yard,  like  one 
escaping. 

Jo  beckoned  to  me,  and  I  went  with  her  into 
the  sitting-room,  where  for  a  moment  we  stood 
alone.  How  short  it  was,  and  yet  how  long  it 
has  been — that  little  moment! 

"May  I  kiss  you  once?"  I  asked,  timidly. 

She  made  no  reply,  but  she  let  me  kiss  her. 
Dear  girl!  We  were  so  young  and  innocent, 
and  all  these  years  were  ahead  of  us,  and — ex 
cuse  me — I  must  change  the  subject. 

The  excursion  train  that  was  to  take  us  to  the 
Falls  left  our  depot  at  one  o'clock.  We  were 

90 


Sam   and  His   Wedding   Journey 

among  the  first  who  got  aboard,  and  the  cars 
filled  rapidly  with  men  and  women  and  crying 
babies  and  boys  and  girls.  Ephraim  Baker  and 
his  wife  had  a  seat  near  us.  Venders  passed  up 
and  down  the  aisle  with  papers,  lemonade,  "  pop 
corn  just  about  salt  enough,"  apples,  and  a  curi 
ous,  horn-shaped  fruit  called  bananas,  the  "  peth" 
of  which  was  declared  to  be  "very  tasty." 

We  reached  Syracuse  in  the  evening,  and 
changed  to  the  night  express  bound  for  Buffalo. 
An  attraction  of  the  trip,  which  had  been  much 
advertised,  was  a  chance  to  see  one  of  the  new 
sleeping-cars  on  the  Central,  and  an  engine  burn 
ing  coal  instead  of  wood.  About  eight  o'clock, 
while  we  were  waiting  on  a  side-track,  the  con 
ductor  invited  us  to  pass  through  the  train  and 
take  a  look  at  the  new  sleeping-car.  We  filed 
slowly  through  it — a  car  glowing  with  varnish 
and  highly  decorated  panels,  and  divided  into 
four  sections  by  curtains  of  heavy  cloth.  Each 
section  had  a  lower,  middle,  and  upper  berth. 

Late  at  night,  as  I  sat  half  asleep  leaning  on 
Sam's  glazed  satchel,  a  man  entered  our  car, 
picked  up  the  satchel,  and  set  it  in  the  aisle  and 
took  the  seat  beside  me.  In  a  moment  the  con 
ductor  came  along  calling  "tickets."  The  man 
in  my  seat  showed  a  pass. 

"What's  the  name?"  the  conductor  queried, 


The  Hand-Made   Gentleman 

as  he  took  the  card  and  held  it  in  the  glow  of  his 
lantern. 

"George  M.  Pullman,"  said  the  man  at  my 
side.  "I  stayed  in  the  sleeping-car  as  long  as 
I  could  stand  it,  and  made  my  escape.  You 
might  as  well  try  to  sleep  in  the  middle  of  Broad 
way.  The  berths  rattle,  and  I  was  bumped 
around  until  I  thought  a  horse  and  wagon  were 
running  over  me." 

Soon  after  that  he  began  drawing  a  diagram 
on  a  large  envelope  with  a  lead-pencil,  and  as 
he  sat  beside  me  I  saw  the  beginning  of  a  new 
chapter  in  railroad  history. 

From  every  point  of  the  compass,  that  night, 
people  were  on  their  way  to  the  Falls.  Next 
morning  they  would  see  wonderful  things — 
athletic  contests,  a  balloon  ascension,  and  a  man 
walking  across  the  chasm  on  a  rope.  I  had 
longed  to  see  the  "big  water-hammers"  and  the 
fleet  horses.  I  thought  chiefly  of  them. 

We  arrived  safely,  and  Sam  led  his  wife  by 
the  hand  through  noisy  crowds,  and  warned  me 
to  keep  near.  We  travelled  a  long  time  trying 
to  find  shelter  within  our  means.  We  found  a 
place  at  last,  although  at  a  price  that  made 
us  thoughtful.  I  was  a  little  worried  for  my 
self,  there  in  the  cold,  indifferent  crowds,  with 
so  little  in  my  pocket.  I  felt  so  very  small 

92 


Sam    and    His   Wedding   Journey 

that   day,  and   feared   there    was   no   hope   for 
me. 

Well,  when  the  morning  had  come  and  I  stood 
gazing  at  the  water-hammers  and  the  flying 
horses  below,  and  wondering  how  men  were 
going  to  tame  and  control  them,  who  should  come 
and  whack  me  on  the  shoulder  but  Bony  Squares. 

"Hello— old  boy!"  said  he;  "here's  that  two 
dollars  I  borrowed." 

It  was  almost  a  shock  to  me — his  unexpected 
honesty  and  my  good-fortune.  After  all,  he 
could  not  be  so  bad  as  I  had  thought  him. 

"Broke  and  lookin'  for  a  job,  I  suppose?"  he 
queried,  with  a  smile. 

"I've  only  a  little  money,  and  don't  know 
yet  what  I'm  going  to  do." 

"  How  would  you  like  to  earn  fifty  dollars 
to-day?" 

Fifty  dollars!  It  was  a  great  sum!  I  could 
go  home  with  it  and  possibly  pay  my  fine,  if 
that  were  necessary.  But  how  so  much  in  a 
day  if  it  were  honest  money? 

"  It  will  take  nerve,"  he  said.  "  I  guess  you're 
not  brave  enough." 

"You're  wrong  there.  I'm  brave  enough  for 
any  work — if  it's  honest." 

"Oh,  it's  as  honest  as  my  aunt  Maria,"  he 
assured  me. 

93 


The    Hand-Made  Gentleman 

I  knew  that  venerable  lady,  and  on  the  score 
of  honor  it  seemed  rather  promising. 

"It's  as  safe  as  standing  here  on  the  side 
walk,  but,  old  boy,  it  will  take  some  nerve," 
he  went  on.  "It  will  take  more  nerve  than 
I've  got,  and  I'm  no  squab  at  that." 

"What  is  it?"  I  asked,  burning  with  curiosity. 

"Well,  you've  heard  of  the  chap  who's  going 
to  walk  a  rope  across  the  rapids  ?  It  will  be  way 
up  in  the  air.  You  can  just  see  it  now,  down  the 
river  there,  hanging  between  the  cliffs.  Looks 
like  a  spider's  thread — but,  say,  it  weighs  a  ton. 
I've  been  helping  'em  hang  it.  The  old  man 
wants  to  carry  some  light,  nervy  chap  on  his 
shoulders  when  he  makes  the  trip.  There's  only 
one  that's  used  to  the  game,  and  he's  on  a  spree, 
and  they're  stuck — can't  find  a  fellow  game 
enough  for  the  job." 

It  is  hard  to  separate  a  boy  from  his  folly — 
not  all  the  schools  in  the  world  can  help  much^ 
and  for  a  long  time  it  is  like  a  sword  hanging 
over  his  head. 

I  jumped  at  the  offer,  for  had  I  not  determined 
for  her  sake  to  fear  no  peril  ? 

"Come  on,  then,"  said  Bony.  "He'll  want  to 
try  you,  and  there's  no  time  to  lose." 

I  went  to  Sam  and  Fannie,  and  promised  to  see 
them  at  the  inn  at  six. 

94 


Sam    and    His  Wedding  Journey 

"Look  out  for  scamps,  boy,"  Sam  whispered. 
"Keep  your  eye  peeled." 

I  assured  him  that  I  would  do  so,  and  hurried 
down  the  high  shore  with  Bony. 

I  wonder,  sometimes,  that  I  let  myself  go  on. 
Well,  there  is  something  deep  in  it  which  I  do 
not  profess  to  understand.  The  spirit  of  the 
time  was  in  me,  and  I  was  like  ten  thousand 
others.  Men  loved  the  perils  of  adventure  those 
days.  No  speculation  was  too  reckless  for  them, 
no  hazard  too  fearful,  no  enterprise  too  difficult. 
The  risks  of  the  desert  and  the  plains  and  the 
battle-field  had  schooled  us  for  that  kind  of 
business. 

Well,  I  had  learned  one  thing,  at  least,  since 
the  last  lesson — that  a  good  heart  may  be  in  a 
rough  body.  Remember — you  children  of  lux 
ury — that  some  rather  hard-handed  people  have 
been  my  friends. 


ADVENTURE  X 


WHICH   IS   THE   ADVENTURE    OF    CRICKET   ON   THE 
HEMPEN    BRIDGE 

E  made  our  way  through  crowds 
of  people  near  the  end  of  the  great 
rope.  Bony  shouted  like  one  in 
authority,  and  they  let  us  pass. 
We  found  the  rope  -  walker  in  a 
small  tent  near  the  edge  of  the  precipice.  He 
was  a  big,  brawny  Frenchman,  who  reminded 
me  of  the  picture  of  Goliath  confronted  by 
David  in  my  bedchamber  at  home.  He  sur 
veyed  me  from  head  to  foot  while  Bony  called 
some  one  aside — it  was  a  man  I  became  ac 
quainted  with  in  due  time — and  addressed  him 
confidentially.  Looking  out,  I  could  see  the  long 
rope  dipping  low  in  the  chasm  from  the  cliff's 
edge  and  ascending  to  the  farther  shore;  I 
could  hear  the  roar  of  the  rapids  far  below  us, 
and  felt  a  little  tremor  inside  of  me.  Really, 
now  that  I  had  a  chance  to  make  her  and  all 

96 


Cricket    on  the  Hempen  Bridge 

the  world  wonder  at  me,  I  thought  of  backing 
out.  However,  I  was  not  brave  enough  for 
that. 

The  great  man  came  presently,  and  took  hold 
of  my  arms  and  lifted  me  as  if  I  had  been  a  sack 
of  potatoes.  It  seemed  revolting,  I  remember, 
to  be  so  handled,  for,  clearly,  he  had  no  respect 
for  me,  and  with  good  reason.  He  said  that  he 
would  try  me  when  the  rope  was  ready,  and  did, 
and  said  I  would  do.  Bony  and  I  went  outside 
the  tent  and  saw  the  great  rope  being  tightened 
with  horse  and  capstan.  It  lay  almost  level, 
by-and-by,  in  a  long,  sweeping  curve  that  could 
have  gone  to  the  moon,  I  fancy,  if  its  circle  had 
been  completed.  The  Frenchman  came  out  of 
his  tent  presently,  in  tights  and  shoulder-braces 
of  new  leather,  upon  which  two  loops  or  handles 
had  been  fastened,  one  over  each  shoulder.  He 
carefully  examined  the  capstan  and  the  pawls 
beneath  it.  He  spoke  a  swift  word  or  two  in 
French,  whereupon  a  young  man,  who  acted  as 
interpreter,  requested  me  to  remove  my  boots, 
and  I  did  so.  Then  the  performer  stepped  in 
front  of  me,  and,  reaching  backward  over  his 
body,  took  my  hands  in  his.  I  jumped  to  his 
back  and  caught  the  loops  over  my  wrists  and 
clung  to  the  leathern  braces,  while  he  carefully 
placed  my  feet  on  his  hips. 
7  97 


The   Hand-Made   Gentleman 

The  big  Frenchman  took  a  few  paces  and  began 
to  chatter. 

"Loosen  up  a  little,"  said  the  interpreter. 
"  Don't  stand  so  stiff.  There,  that's  better." 

An  attendant  brought  the  balancing-rod,  and 
the  performer  took  it  and  approached  the  end 
of  the  rope.  I  could  now  look  down  far  into 
the  abyss  and  felt  my  heart  failing  me.  But  I 
thought  of  Jo,  and  imagined  that  she  was  there, 
and  said  to  myself  that  I  would  rather  die  than 
be  a  coward.  Before  I  knew  it  he  was  on  the 
slant  of  the  rope  and  slowly  descending,  and  so 
silently  it  seemed  as  if  he  were  walking  the  soft 
air.  I  heard  a  murmur  start  suddenly,  and  go 
up  and  down  the  shore  near  us.  The  roar  of  the 
waters  burst  upon  me  from  below.  I  knew  that 
there  was  plenty  of  air  beneath  us,  but  was  not 
brave  enough  to  look  down  through  that  long, 
long  drop  to  the  foamy  water  -  floor  of  the 
chasm.  I  kept  my  eyes  on  the  tree-top  at  the 
edge  of  the  farther  cliff.  I  heard  a  voice  call 
to  me: 

"Are  you  afraid?" 

I  shook  my  head  and  answered,  "  No." 

The  performer  stopped  and  began  to  sway  a 
little,  his  rod  moving  up  and  down.  I  tightened 
my  grip  and  breathed  faster.  I  remember  well 
the  play  of  his  muscles  under  me.  I  could  feel 

98 


Cricket   on  the  Hempen  Bridge 

a  change  in  their  action — he  was  going  back 
ward,  but  very  slowly.  The  roar  of  the  water 
was  diminishing,  and  stopped  as  suddenly  as  it 
began.  We  were  back  on  the  earth  again,  and  I 
was  very  glad  and  a  little  shaky. 

Well,  the  Frenchman  said  that  I  would  do, 
and  half  a  dozen  men  shook  my  hand  and  made 
me  proud  with  their  compliments.  The  inter 
preter  told  me  that  we  would  "cross  the  bridge" 
at  three,  and  that  I  should  wait  there  and  have 
my  dinner  with  them.  The  big  Frenchman  put 
on  his  clothes  and  drove  away  in  a  carriage. 

Those  hours  of  waiting  were  a  great  trial  to 
me.  I  paced  up  and  down  before  the  tent,  and 
Bony  tried  to  talk  to  me,  but  I  said  little  and 
heard  less.  I  remember  his  telling  in  a  whisper 
that  they  would  not  take  a  boy  so  young  with 
out  the  consent  of  his  parents,  and  that  he  had 
told  them  that  he  was  my  father.  I  assured 
him,  with  dignity,  that  I  would  not  lie  about  it. 

"Just  say  nothing.  I'll  do  all  the  lying  that's 
necessary,"  said  Bony. 

"If  they  ask  me  I  shall  tell  the  truth,"  I 
affirmed. 

"  You'd  better  not  put  me  in  a  hole  when  I'm 
trying  to  do  you  a  favor,"  Bony  pleaded. 

I  made  no  answer,  but  somehow  his  words 
had  cheapened  the  enterprise,  of  which  I  had  had 

99 


The    Hand-Made   Gentleman 

no  high  opinion  since  the  performer  had  lifted 
me  as  if  I  were  a  thing. 

The  edges  of  the  cliffs  began  to  turn  black 
with  people,  and  I  could  hear  the  sound  of  many 
voices.  Suddenly  those  near  us  began  cheering. 
The  great  Frenchman  had  returned.  It  was 
about  three  o'clock.  He  came  straight  to  me, 
and  shook  my  hand,  and  said  in  French : 

"Courage!"  and  added  something  which  I 
could  not  understand. 

"You'll  be  as  safe  as  you  are  here,"  said  the 
interpreter.  "Don't  jump  if  he  sways  a  little, 
and  don't  look  down." 

The  Frenchman  hurried  to  his  tent.  It  was 
time  to  "cross  the  bridge." 

They  gave  me  a  pair  of  white  stockings  with 
soles  of  corrugated  rubber,  and  I  drew  them  on. 

The  minutes  dragged  while  the  Frenchman 
was  dressing.  He  came  out  in  pink  tights,  and 
the  crowd,  pressing  on  the  ropes  around  us, 
began  to  cheer.  He  tried  his  pole,  and  then 
came  straight  to  me.  That  was  a  bad  moment, 
and  I  felt  like  running  for  my  life,  but — no — I 
could  not  do  so  now.  The  interpreter  asked  me 
to  remove  my  coat  and  put  on  a  close-fitting  cap 
in  place  of  the  hat  I  wore. 

In  a  second  we  were  on  the  rope,  and  he  began 
reaching  for  his  balance.  He  felt  his  way  slowly. 

100 


Cricket    on   the  Hempen  Bridge 

The  people  were  cheering  and  waving  their 
handkerchiefs.  The  bands  ceased  playing.  He 
quickened  his  pace,  and  went  on  with  a  steady 
stride.  A  roar  of  excitement  followed  the 
cheering,  and  then  a  hush  fell  on  the  crowds. 
For  half  a  moment  I  could  hear  only  the  breath 
ing  of  the  performer  and  my  own  heart-beat. 
Then  I  heard  the  snort  of  the  "white  horses" 
far  below  me.  Suddenly  the  shrill,  hysterical 
cry  of  a  woman  rose  out  of  the  silence.  Right 
after  that  I  could  hear  the  groans  of  men  behind 
us,  and  wild  peals  of  laughter  that  echoed  through 
the  deep  chasm  and  had  a  weird  note  in  them. 

There  were  those  for  whom  the  sight  of  our 
peril  was  as  a  nightmare.  Phrases  of  prayer 
came  out  to  my  ears — "God  have  mercy  on 
them,"  and  the  like.  Little  children  called  to  us. 
There  were  two  or  three  men  who  groaned  at 
every  step  of  the  walker,  as  if  they  felt  the  strain 
of  his  muscles.  It  was  an  old  Roman  spectacle, 
and  at  no  other  time  in  the  nineteenth  century 
would  it  have  been  possible. 

I  had  kept  my  eyes  on  the  tree-top,  and  now  I 
could  see  the  lift  of  the  rope  before  me;  I  could 
hear  it  creak  as  it  bent  beneath  us.  For  an 
instant  I  let  my  glance  fall.  Down,  down  it 
went  like  a  plummet  sounding  the  depths  below. 
I  shut  my  eyes,  but  my  thoughts  went  plunging 

101 


The  Hand-Made    Gentleman 

downward.  I  was  like  a  man  with  his  hands  full 
of  eggs — one  falls,  and  then  they  all  begin  to 
slip  away. 

When  I  looked  again  the  cliffs  were  reeling 
before  us.  I  had  to  stop  them,  single-handed, 
and  I  can  tell  you  it  was  a  task.  With  a  mighty 
effort  I  shoved  them  back  into  place  again  and 
held  them  down — at  least,  that  is  the  way  I 
thought  of  it. 

We  were  down  in  the  hollow  of  the  rope,  about 
half-way  across  the  chasm,  and  were  swinging  a 
little  in  a  wind  current.  The  Frenchman  slowed 
his  pace,  and  I  could  feel  the  changing  tension  of 
his  muscles.  He  struck  the  rope  with  one  foot 
and  then  the  other — a  sort  of  hammer  blow.  It 
checked  the  swing,  and  for  half  a  second  he  seem 
ed  to  cling  with  his  feet.  He  took  three  quick 
steps,  and  settled  into  an  even  pace  again.  I 
thought  of  letting  go,  for  the  relief  of  it.  But 
this  notion  came  to  me,  and  I  laugh  when  I 
think  of  its  oddity:  if  I  should  let  go  I  should 
lose  the  fifty  dollars,  which  would  buy  something 
fine  for  my  mother.  And  I  clung  so  that  my 
hands  ached.  I  watched  a  swallow,  and  ceased 
to  think  of  myself.  That  little  bird  may  have 
saved  my  life,  for  me  and  for  you.  He  coasted 
through  the  sunlit  air  almost  to  the  point  of  my 
nose,  checked  himself  with  a  giggle  of  surprise, 

102 


Cricket    on  the  Hempen  Bridge 

and  wound  us  in  loops  of  song.  Somehow  it 
heartened  me  to  hear  him. 

The  rope  grew  steeper.  Now  it  seemed  an 
impossible  journey  there  ahead  of  us.  But  he 
went  on  with  a  steady  stride,  and  the  hempen 
hill  bent  inward  as  he  put  his  feet  upon  it.  With 
joy  I  could  see  my  tree-top  coming  nearer,  but 
every  step  I  had  to  look  up  a  little  farther  to  see 
it.  Suddenly  the  rope  began  to  swing  again — 
I  do  not  know  why.  It  has  been  said  that  some 
reckless  fellow  had  wilfully  pulled  a  guy-rope. 
The  whole  side  of  the  cliff  began  to  rock  as  be 
fore.  The  strands  of  muscle  under  me  tightened 
quickly.  The  performer  slowed  his  pace,  and 
stopped  for  half  a  second.  The  ends  of  his  pole 
went  up  and  down  like  a  teeter-board.  Again 
his  feet  struck  the  rope. 

"Courage!"  he  whispered. 

He  took  two  or  three  quick  steps  and  stopped 
again.  He  had  checked  the  swing  of  the  rope, 
and  now  resumed  his  progress  up  the  steep  hill. 
He  climbed  slowly  near  the  end  of  it,  and  a 
mighty  cheer  ran  up  and  down  the  edge  of  the 
cliffs  when  he  sprang  ashore. 

I  jumped  from  his  back,  and  saw,  when  he 
shook  my  hand,  that  his  own  trembled  a  bit  and 
that  he  was  breathing  heavily. 

He  put  on  a  suit  of  clothes  and  beckoned  me  to 
103 


The  Hand-Made  Gentleman 

a  carriage  that  stood  near.  I  took  a  seat  beside 
him,  and  went  to  his  inn.  The  interpreter  met  us 
there,  and  had  my  boots,  coat,  and  hat  with  him. 

"Monsieur  wishes  me  to  thank  you,  and  say 
that  we  have  paid  your  father,"  he  remarked. 

"My  father!" 

"  Yes;  the  man  who  came  with  you.  Is  he  not 
your  father?" 

"No,"  I  said,  "and  he  has  taken  my  money 
and  gone  with  it." 

So  bitter  was  my  disappointment  that  I  sat 
down  upon  the  floor,  and  covered  my  face  and 
wept.  Then  there  was  a  great  chattering  in 
French,  and  the  performer  came  and  gave  me  a 
pat  of  sympathy  on  my  shoulder  and  a  ten- 
dollar  bill. 

A  crowd  of  curious  people  followed  me  on  my 
way  to  my  inn — mostly  boys  of  about  my  own 
age  and  younger.  They  felt  of  my  garments, 
and  ran  before  me,  staring  into  my  face.  Griev 
ous  and  heavy  was  my  sense  of  distinction.  It 
covered  me  with  shame.  There  was  something 
wrong  about  my  bravery. 

At  the  inn  I  found  Sam  and  his  bride  and 
Ephraim  Baker.  Somehow  they  had  heard  of 
my  part  in  the  rope- walking. 

"Did  that  crowd  of  boys  follow  you?"  Sam 
inquired. 

104 


Cricket    on  the  Hempen  Bridge 

"Yes." 

"They  can't  see  the  biggest  fool  in  America 
every  day,"  said  Mr.  Baker. 

Well,  I  suddenly  got  a  strong  desire  to  move 
on.  I  was  a  bit  wiser  when  I  started  for  Gra 
ham's  hotel  in  Buffalo,  where  Mr.  McCarthy  was 
to  meet  me.  Ephraim  Baker  had  called  me  a 
fool,  but  I  knew  better  than  that.  I  had  sense 
enough  now,  at  least,  to  understand  the  dif 
ference  between  courage  and  folly.  It  is  about 
the  last  lesson  of  boyhood. 

That  narrow,  bending  path  of  hemp  had  been 
for  me  a  bridge  between  the  cliffs  of  youth  and 
young  manhood,  of  recklessness  and  prudence. 
The  crossing  is  ever  full  of  peril,  and  there  is 
always  some  one  to  pull  the  rope  and  increase 
our  difficulty. 

I  asked  Sam  and  his  bride  to  say  nothing  of  my 
adventure  in  Summerville,  and  bade  them  good 
bye  at  the  depot,  and  went  on  my  way  to  a  new 
school  of  experience. 


ADVENTURE  XI 


IN  WHICH  CRICKET  MEETS  THE  HAND-MADE   GEN 
TLEMAN    AND    THE    PEARL    OF    GREAT    PRICE 

RAHAM'S  hotel  was  near  the 
depot.  I  asked  my  wmy  of  an 
officer,  and  he  went  with  me.  At 
the  desk  I  inquired  timidly  for 
my  friend. 

"Mr.  James  Henry  McCarthy  is  here,"  the 
clerk  answered,  with  a  smile.     "He  is  making 
the  homes  of  this  city   bright  and   beautiful. 
Wish  to  see  him?" 
"Yes,"  I  answered. 

He  called  a  colored  youth,  and  sent  word  to 
Mr.  McCarthy.  The  colored  youth  returned 
presently,  and  said: 

"Mr.  McCarthy  says,  'Please  ask  the  gentle 
man  to  send  up  his  card." 

I  wrote  my  name  on  a  card,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  presented  myself  at  Mr.  McCarthy's  door. 
"I  am  pleased  to  see  you,"  said  he,  with  dig 
nity.     "Come  in." 

106 


Two    Important    Meetings 

He  was  well  dressed  in  new  clothing. 

"How  are  you?"  I  inquired. 

"How  do  I  look?"  he  asked,  promptly. 

"Splendid,"  was  my  answer. 

"That  suit  cost  me  twenty-one  dollars,"  he 
remarked,  with  a  glance  at  himself.  "Feel  of 
the  cloth." 

I  did  as  he  bade  me. 

"Isn't  this  a  grand  room?"  he  went  on.  "I 
guess  you  must  have  thought  that  I  was  getting 
along  in  the  world  when  you  were  asked  to  send 
up  your  card  to  Mr.  McCarthy." 

He  laughed,  and  rattled  his  change. 

"Will  you  have  a  cigar?"  he  asked,  removing 
two  from  his  waistcoat-pocket. 

"I  do  not  smoke." 

"Nor  I,"  said  he,  "but  I  carry  them  for  the 
sake  of  appearances." 

"How  is  business?" 

"Grand,"  said  he.  "I  have  six  men  at  work 
for  me,  and  have  started  a  little  factory  at  home. 
My  sister  makes  Sal,  and  the  agents  buy  it  from 
us,  and  so  we  have  no  bother.  We  ship  it  in 
crates,  like  a  lot  of  eggs,  and  each  ball  is  neatly 
wrapped  and  all  ready  for  the  customer.  I  am 
also  beginning  the  manufacture  of  soap." 

I  expressed  my  delight  over  his  good-fortune. 

"How  are  you  getting  along?"  he  asked. 
107 


The    Hand-Made  Gentleman 

I  told  him  the  story  of  my  failure. 

"There's  the  trouble,"  said  Mr.  McCarthy. 
"A  green  hand  is  apt  to  slip  down  making  the 
goods. 

"  'There's  many  a  fall 

'Twixt  the  powder  and  ball,' 

as  ye  might  say.  That's  why  I  started  the 
factory." 

I  paid  my  debt  to  him. 

"Are  you  going  to  take  out  another  line  of 
goods?"  he  asked. 

"No;  I'm  going  home,"  was  my  answer.  "I'll 
write  to  you  if  I  decide  to  try  it  again." 

"Maybe  you  need  this  money  to  get  home 
with,"  he  suggested,  in  a  careless  and  opulent 
manner. 

"No;  I  have  enough,"  was  my  answer. 

"Sit  down,  an'  le'  's  have  a  little  visit,"  said 
he.  "I  like  you,  an'  by-an'-by  I'll  take  you  out 
an'  show  you  the  sights.  I  want  to  treat  you 
as  one  gentleman  would  treat  another.  Have 
you  noticed  that  I  don't  say  'ain't'  for  'isn't' 
or  'them'  for  'those'  any  more?" 

"I  notice  that  you  speak  very  properly,"  I 
assured  him. 

"I've  got  a  grammar,  and  have  begun  to 
study  it,"  said  he.  "My  tea-pot  is  all  made,  as 

1 08 


Two    Important   Meetings 

ye  might  say,  an'  I  have  begun  to  put  a  polish 
on  it.  Let  me  show  ye." 

He  rose  and  put  on  his  hat. 

"Now,  suppose  I've  rung  the  bell  an'  Mrs. 
Smith  opens  the  door.  I  bow  so,  and  say: 
'Good-morning,  madam,'  or  'Good -afternoon, 
madam.  Would  you  like  to  engage  a  servant 
who  will  work  for  you  at  half  a  cent  a  day  and 
board  herself?  I  have  one  of  the  name  of  Sal. 
Sal  cleans  woodwork,  silver,  and  all  kinds  of 
metal,  and  never  complains.' 

' '  I  don't  talk  as  much  as  I  used  to.  Some  way 
it  don't  sound  honest,  and  I  find  out  that  gentle 
men  are  not  apt  to  be  gabby.  I  try  to  please 
and  show  that  I  want  to  earn  an  honest  living, 
and  I  get  along. 

"Ye  see,  the  children  like  me  because  I  like 
them,  and  everybody  is  glad  to  see  me  when  I 
come  around.  The  other  day  a  woman  asked 
me  to  mind  her  children  while  she  went  of  an 
errand.  It  would  have  tickled  you  to  see  how 
they  piled  on  me." 

He  sat  in  a  chair  and  laughed,  and  put  his 
wooden  leg  on  the  bed,  and  pulled  a  grip  and 
two  pillows  into  his  lap,  and  flung  the  bolster 
over  his  leg. 

"There,  that's  about  the  way  I  looked,"  he 
went  on,  with  a  laugh.  "I  made  faces  for  'em 

109 


The  Hand-Made  Gentleman 

and  told  'em  how  I  lost  my  leg,  and  we  had  a 
grand  time  of  it.  It's  the  same  way  with  grown 
up  folks.  If  you  want  them  to  like  you,  you've 
got  to  like  them.  A  gentleman  never  speaks 
badly  of  any  one;  that's  another  thing  I've 
learnt." 

"I'm  not  a  gentleman,  then,"  I  answered. 

"Why?" 

"  There's  one  man  about  whom  I  couldn't  say 
anything  mean  enough." 

"Well,  if  you  owe  him  a  thrashing,  wait  until 
you  can  pay  him  off  proper.  You  can't  do  it 
with  your  tongue." 

I  knew  then  that  James  Henry  McCarthy, 
crude  as  he  was,  had  got  a  little  ahead  of  me. 

"  You  see,  I'm  working  on  my  gentleman  every 
day,"  he  went  on.  "I'll  have  him  in  decent 
shape  by-an'-by.  I  read  a  good  deal,  because 
every  gentleman  reads,  and  I'm  beginning  to 
enjoy  it." 

"I  wish  you'd  make  me  a  visit;  I  want  you 
to  meet  my  mother,"  said  I. 

"  I'd  like  to,"  he  answered.  "  You  must  come 
from  a  very  respectable  family." 

"What  makes  you  think  so?"  I  asked. 

"Oh,  I  can  tell  by  your  looks  and  your  way 
of  talking,"  he  remarked.  "You've  been  well 
brought  up — a  ready-made  gentleman,  as  ye 

no 


Two   Important  Meetings 

might  say.  It's  grand  to  have  all  that  done  for 
ye.  I  wasn't  so  lucky.  But  I'm  made  upon 
honor — hand-sewed  and  stitched  and  double- 
soled.  I  ought  to  wear  well.  You  could  rely  on 
me  to  behave  myself  if  you  took  me  into  your 
home." 

Just  then  a  colored  boy  came  to  the  door  and 
said:  "There's  a  man  down-stairs  who  wants  to 
see  Mr.  McCarthy,  and  he  won't  give  me  a 
card." 

"Show  the  gentleman  up,"  said  my  friend,  as 
if  accustomed  to  many  callers. 

Presently  in  walked  the  Pearl  of  great  price 
with  the  dog,  Mr.  Barker.  I  was  overjoyed  to 
see  them. 

"Let  me  feel  of  you,"  he  said,  as  he  took  my 
hand.  "  Now  don't  be  scairt  an'  jump  out  o' 
the  window.  Just  agree  to  stay  with  me  for  a 
minute.  I'll  agree  not  to  kill  you.  I — I  couldn't 
get  even  with  you  in  that  way." 

"What's  the  matter?"  I  asked. 

"First,  le'  's  have  the  minutes  of  the  previous 
meetin',"  said  Mr.  Pearl. 

It  must  be  remembered  that  H.  M.  Pearl,  Esq., 
had  lived  through  years  of  oratory  and  public 
assemblage,  and  that  his  thoughts  ran  more  or 
less  in  their  cant. 

"  The  meeting  will  now  come  to  order,  and  Mr. 
in 


The    Hand-Made   Gentleman 

Barker  will  take  the  floor,"  said  the  Pearl  of 
great  price. 

The  dog  came  and  stood  on  his  hind  feet, 
facing  his  master. 

"  You  will  recall,"  said  Mr.  Pearl,  addressing  the 
animal, "  that  I  once  spoke  to  you  on  the  subject  of 
bad  company.  Is  the  same  true  to-day  or  not?" 

The  dog  gave  a  loud  bark. 

"It  is  true,"  said  Mr.  Pearl;  "of  course  it  is 
true!  Therefore,  Mr.  Barker,  please  bear  in 
mind  that  there  is  nothing  that  makes  so  much 
trouble  as  bad  company.  It  will  bring  your 
black  hairs  in  sorrow  to  the  grave." 

The  dog  was  excused,  and  the  Pearl  turned  to 
me  and  said: 

"You  went  into  the  barn  at  Baker's,  an'  I'll 
swear  ye  didn't  come  out  of  it." 

It  was  he,  then,  who  had  followed  me.  My 
heart  began  to  warm  with  delight,  and  that 
singular  masquerade  of  mine  came  back  to  me, 
and  I  went  through  it  all  for  them.  So  great  was 
the  amusement  of  Mr.  Pearl  that  he  flirted  his 
feet  in  the  air  and  laughed,  while  Mr.  McCarthy 
whacked  his  wooden  leg  with  the  stove  poker, 
and  shook  his  head,  and  gave  an  odd  cackle. 
Alas!  I  cannot  tell  it  now  as  I  did  then,  for 
those  days  I  had  the  heart  of  youth  in  me  and  a 
voice  for  joy. 

112 


Two  Important    Meetings 

"  I've  chased  you  for  three  weeks,"  said  the 
Pearl.  "You're  like  a  flea  on  the  body  o'  the 
United  States.  I  had  a  talk  with  a  friend  o' 
your  mother,  an'  set  out  to  bring  you  back. 
Made  a  birch-bark  canoe,  an'  run  her  down  to 
the  St.  Lawrence  an'  up  to  the  end  o'  the  lake. 
Heard  from  your  mother  at  Sackett's;  she  said 
you  were  at  Baker's  and  would  meet  Mr. 
McCarthy  here.  You  jumped  from  Baker's  to 
somewhere,  an'  then  to  the  Falls,  an'  then  here, 
an'  I've  been  a  jump  behind  you  all  the  way." 

I  rose,  dumb  with  surprise,  and  Mr.  Pearl 
continued : 

"  I  got  back  to  Mill  Pond  a  day  or  two  after 
you  an'  Bony  lit  out.  A  good  deal  was  bein' 
said,  an'  I  had  to  lick  a  man  for  sayin'  a  part  of 
it,  which  the  said  language  wasn't  calculated  to 
improve  your  reputation.  Oh,  I  tell  ye,  things 
have  warmed  up  an'  transpired  since  you  went 
away!  I  says  to  'em  that  you  wasn't  any  Dan'l 
Webster,  an'  that  Bony  had  drawed  you  into 
his  game.  I  know  you  didn't  have  no  more  idea 
o'  wrong-doin*  than  a  pickerel  has  of  a  vest- 
pocket.  One  day  I  promised  to  go  down  to  the 
big  river  an*  see  if  I  could  pick  ye  up.  So  here 
I  am,  an*  the  next  thing  in  the  order  of  exercises 
will  be  new  business.  We've  got  to  convey  our 
selves  out  o'  here  immediately,  if  not  sooner." 
A  113 


The   Hand-Made  Gentleman 

"I  am  ready,"  I  said,  rising  and  putting  on 
my  hat. 

"We've  got  to  move,  an'  conversation  won't 
carry  us.  To  get  down  to  plain  language,  have 
you  any  money?" 

"Eight  dollars  and  forty- three  cents,"  I 
answered. 

"The  report  is  accepted,"  Mr.  Pearl  went  on. 
"It  is  as  good  as  a  million  dollars.  We'll  go 
down  to  the  lake  an'  take  a  steamer,  get  off  at 
Sackett's,  walk  a  few  miles,  an'  proceed  with 
our  own  steam." 

It  was  arranged,  with  the  hearty  concurrence 
of  H.  M.  Pearl,  Esq.,  that  Mr.  McCarthy  should 
go  with  us. 

"It  will  give  me  a  rest,  and  I  can  put  some 
agents  at  work  in  your  part  of  the  country," 
said  the  latter. 

We  set  out  together,  and  got  to  Sackett's 
Harbor  next  day.  It  was  a  long  walk  to  the 
beach  at  Anderson's,  where  the  big  canoe  of  my 
friend  was  lying.  He  had  left  a  small  tent  and 
two  horse-blankets  in  a  house  near  by.  Mr. 
McCarthy  bought  a  basket  of  provisions  at  a 
store,  and  soon  after  noon  of  the  second  day  of 
our  journey  we  were  all  aboard  and  headed 
down  the  river,  Mr.  Pearl  in  the  stern  seat  and 
I  in  the  bow.  We  two  had  paddles,  while  Mr. 

114 


Two  Important  Meetings 

McCarthy  sat  amidships  near  the  dog,  pushing 
further  into  the  sea  of  knowledge  with  his  gram 
mar  and  dictionary.  We  went  on  with  a  steady 
stroke,  and  a  light  breeze  behind  us.  It  was  a 
cloudless  day,  and  the  cool,  crystal  floor  of  the 
river  chasm  tempered  the  heat  of  the  sun. 

"I  am  in  pursuit  of  history,"  Mr.  McCarthy 
remarked  soon. 

"Well,  if  you  get  acquainted  with  history,  by- 
an'  -  by  history  is  apt  to  get  acquainted  with 
you,"  Mr.  Pearl  remarked. 

"I  have  here  a  pack  of  white  cards,"  Mr. 
McCarthy  went  on.  ' '  Every  one  contains  a  fact. 
I'll  read  a  few  of  them  to  show  you  what  I  mean. 
Number  one  says,  'Columbus  discovered  Amer 
ica,  1492 ' ;  number  two  says,  'The  French  settled 
at  Quebec  in  1608';  number  three  says,  'The 
Spanish  settled  at  St.  Augustine  in  1565,'  and 
so  on.  Here's  a  hundred  cards  and  a  hundred 
facts.  First,  I  put  'em  all  in  one  coat-pocket. 
Every  day  I  take  out  a  card  and  learn  what's 
on  it,  and  put  it  into  another  pocket,  and  keep 
the  pack  moving." 

"Have  you  got  it  down  that  H.  M.  Pearl, 
Esquire,  was  born  at  Machias,  Maine,  in  1817?" 
was  a  query  that  came  from  the  stern  seat. 

"No;  Hildreth  says  that  all  history  is  neces 
sarily  incomplete,"  Mr.  McCarthy  answered,  with 


The    Hand-Made    Gentleman 

a  laugh.  "I  like  that  word  incomplete.  It  has 
a  good  sound  to  it.  I've  got  my  book  full  of 
new  words.  Say,  what's  a  horruck?  It  ain't 
in  my  dictionary." 

I  explained  the  term,  which  he  had  overheard 
in  Pearl's  talk  at  Graham's. 

The  islands  were  now  thick  around  us,  and 
we  landed  in  a  little  cove  on  one  of  them,  and 
went  up  under  the  shade  of  the  trees  for  a  bite 
of  luncheon. 

"There's  power  for  ye,"  said  Mr.  Pearl,  with  a 
glance  at  the  river  sweeping  by  us.  ' '  Lord !  she's 
like  a  belt  off  the  world's  engine." 

I  had  begun  to  see  the  power  in  the  man  Pearl 
himself,  young  as  I  was.  It  is  clear  to  me  now: 
the  genius  of  the  Republic,  soon  to  express 
itself  in  dauntless  enterprise,  in  prodigious  and 
unheard-of  enginery,  had  begun  to  stir  in  him; 
the  imagination  that  builds  and  discovers,  the 
humor  that  accepts  failure  without  discourage 
ment,  the  energy  which  may  not  be  overcome 
were  all  in  this  man. 

"If  I  had  capital,"  Mr.  Pearl  added,  presently, 
"I'd  show  ye  some  actions  which  speak  louder 
than  words." 

"What  would  you  do  with  it?"  I  asked. 

"Well,  here's  the  river,"  he  said,  mapping  it 
on  a  stretch  of  sand  with  his  finger.  "Here's 

116 


Two   Important  Meetings 

the  falls  at  your  house.  Here's  the  town  o' 
Heartsdale,  about  half  a  mile  up  the  river — 
shops  an'  mills  an'  stores  an'  houses  an'  two 
thousand  people,  all  about  as  slow  as  West  Injy 
molasses." 

He  looked  up  at  us,  and  took  another  bite. 

"What  they  need  is  power,"  he  went  on. 
"That's  what  '11  put  the  zip  into  a  town.  It  '11 
wake  up  the  people,  an'  shake  'em  off  the  cracker- 
barrels  an'  tumble  'em  out  o'  the  rockin'-chairs. 
It  '11  set  a  pace  for  'em." 

I  began  to  wonder  what  rude  miracle  he  pro 
posed  for  the  dreaming  village  of  Heartsdale. 

"It  was  located  wrong,"  he  went  on;  "but 
there  it  is,  an'  I  know  how  to  shove  some  power 
into  it — power  enough  to  put  everything  on  the 
jump."  He  turned  to  Mr.  McCarthy,  and  added: 
"Make  a  note  in  your  history  that  H.  M.  Pearl, 
Esquire,  said  it,  an'  that  a  full  account  of  his 
actions  will  appear  in  a  later  volume." 

I  asked  him  how  he  proposed  to  do  this  won 
derful  thing. 

"How,  wherefore,  and,  also,  why,"  he  said,  as 
he  took  another  bite  of  cheese.  "Well,  ye  know 
where  the  river  jumps  over  the  rocks  an'  stands 
up  like  a  man  thirty  feet  tall,  there  by  your 
house?  That's  where  I'll  perform  my  actions 
— right  there."  He  drew  a  line  in  the  sand. 

117 


The    Hand-Made    Gentleman 

"Here's  a  stream  o'  water  thirty  feet  wide  an'  a 
foot  an'  a  half  thick.  There's  a  horse-power  in 
every  square  foot  of  it.  I'll  take  off,  say,  one- 
quarter  o'  the  fall  an'  head  her  into  an  iron  pipe 
an'  let  her  jump  down.  She  strikes  like  a  trip 
hammer,  dropping  thirty  feet  in  a  big,  cast-iron 
cylinder.  There  are  holes  around  the  bottom  of 
it.  The  water  squirts  through  'em  with  power 
enough  to  kick  a  man's  leg  off.  Now,  I'll  put 
a  wheel  there  at  the  bottom,  with  a  big  steel 
rim  that  has  buckets  on  it  like  the  slats  in  a 
windmill.  Well,  out  come  the  jets  o'  water  an' 
give  them  buckets  a  cuff  that  sets  the  wheel 
goin'.  A  shaft  on  this  wheel  moves  the  dynamo, 
an'  there  you  have  it." 

"What?"  Mr.  McCarthy  asked. 

"'Lectricity,"  was  the  prompt  answer  of  the 
Pearl.  "Don't  you  know  how  it's  made?  Nor 
I,  neither,  but  I  guess  I  can  come  as  nigh  tellin' 
as  any  one.  Here's  a  stationary  wheel  out  by 
the  end  o'  the  shaft  with  some  short  bars  of  iron 
fastened  to  the  rim  of  it,  an'  each  bar  is  wound 
with  a  coil  o'  wire.  Now,  when  ye  send  a  cur 
rent  through  the  coil,  that  bar  o'  iron  gets  alive. 
It  will  take  hold  o'  any  other  piece  o'  iron  an' 
hang  on  like  a  bulldog.  Folk  call  it  a  magnet, 
an'  it's  some  like  a  boy — never  gives  any  reason 
for  his  conduct  which  nobody  understands.  It 

118 


Two   Important  Meetings 

just  takes  hold,  an'  that's  all  there  is  about  it. 
Now,  there's  another  wheel  that  moves  with  the 
shaft  an'  has  the  same  number  o'  bar  ends  on 
it,  all  made  o'  soft  iron  but  not  wrapped  with 
wire.  Set  these  wheels  parallel  an'  close,  so  the 
bar  ends  are  not  more  'n  a  quarter  of  an  inch 
apart.  The  magnets  begin  to  pull.  The  power 
in  'em  jumps  over  that  quarter-inch  o'  open  space 
an'  takes  hold  o'  the  soft  iron.  You  have  to 
put  an  awful  power  on  the  shaft  to  stir  the  one 
wheel  on  account  o'  the  cling  o'  the  magnets.  It's 
like  pullin'  a  cat  out  of  a  hole  backwards.  The 
power  begins  to  spit  an'  make  actions.  When  you 
move  the  wheel  an'  break  the  hold  o'  the  magnets 
the  power  begins  to  travel  an'  chases  'round  the 
rim.  It  opens  the  gate  o'  the  great  reservoir  an' 
out  comes  a  stream,  an'  it's  'lectricity.  Nobody 
knows  why  nor  wherefore,  an'  the  magnets  keep 
to  work  an'  say  nothin'.  It's  like  churnin'  cream 
till  ye  get  butter.  Ye  break  the  pull  o'  the 
magnets  an'  set  it  whirlin'  in  a  kind  of  a  current, 
an'  you  get  a  power  that  zips  off  on  a  wire  at  the 
rate  of  a  hundred  and  eighty  thousand  miles  in 
a  second.  That's  'lectricity.  It's  rather  frac 
tious  an'  fond  o'  travel.  But  ye  can  coop  it  up 
in  the  wheels  an'  steer  it  where  ye  like.  Ye  can 
pen  it  in  with  glass  an'  rubber  a*n'  other  things 
just  as  easy  as  ye  can  hold  water  with  a  tin  pail. 

119 


The    Hand-Made   Gentleman 

You  hold  it  in  copper  sections,  fastened  to  both 
wheels,  sweep  it  up  with  a  brush,  an'  send  it  off 
on  a  wire.  I've  got  a  scheme  for  takin'  it  from 
the  other  end  o'  the  wire  in  large  or  small  quanti 
ties  to  suit  the  purchaser,  an'  I  believe  that  I 
can  move  all  the  wheels  in  Heartsdale,  an'  a 
good  many  more." 

"If  I  get  along  in  business  maybe  I  can  fur 
nish  the  capital  one  o'  these  days,"  said  Mr. 
McCarthy. 

"Then  you'll  begin  to  make  history,"  said  the 
Pearl  of  great  price. 

Mr.  McCarthy  looked  thoughtful.  The  idea 
of  making  history  brightened  his  eyes. 

"We  will  see  what  can  be  done,"  he  an 
swered. 

Again  we  took  our  places  in  the  canoe,  and  it 
seemed  to  spring  away  with  the  current. 

"We'll  ride  the  belt,"  said  Mr.  Pearl.  "We 
ought  to  make  ten  miles  between  now  an' 
sundown." 

The  breeze  left  us,  and  the  river  slackened  its 
pace  in  a  gentler  mood.  Reeds  lined  its  margin 
with  soft  shadows  into  which,  often,  bunches  of 
blue  iris  flung  their  color. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  Mr.  McCarthy,  presently, 
"I'm  in  need  of  advice." 

"Touchin'  what  subject?"  Mr.  Pearl  inquired. 
1 20 


Two   Important  Meetings 

"My  mind  is  set  on  matrimony,"  said  the 
young  man. 

"Tell  it  to  get  up  an'  move  on,"  said  Mr.  Pearl. 

"Are  you  in  love?"  I  asked. 

"I  fear  that  I  am,"  said  Mr.  McCarthy,  with 
his  accustomed  frankness. 

"All  depends  on  the  other  party,"  said  Mr. 
Pearl. 

"It's  a  beautiful  girl  by  the  name  o'  Betsey 
Fame,"  the  boy  answered. 

"Better  be  Miss  Fame  than  Misfortune,"  said 
the  Pearl  of  great  price. 

"My  trouble  is  all  on  account  of  this  wooden 
leg,"  Mr.  McCarthy  explained.  "I  saved  her 
mother's  life  in  a  runaway  an'  got  my  ankle 
smashed.  She  took  care  o'  me  when  I  was  laid 
up,  and  told  me  to  study  an'  improve  my  mind 
and  be  a  gentleman.  I  fell  in  love  with  her,  and 
I'm  getting  along.  But  my  gentleman  has  be 
gun  to  crush  the  life  out  o'  Pegleg  McCarthy. 
He's  killed  my  best  hope,  for  he  won't  let  me 
ask  her  to  marry  me.  She's  a  wonderful  nice 
girl,  and  belongs  to  a  good  family.  But  here's 
my  wooden  leg,  and  it  comes  o'  my  tryin'  to 
save  her  mother.  She  might  think  she  had 
ought  to  accept  me  whether  she  cares  for  me 
or  not.  She's  just  that  kind  of  a  girl.  Do  you 
think  it's  fair  for  me  to  ask  her?  I  don't." 

121 


The   Hand-Made   Gentleman 

Pearl  and  I  rested  the  paddles.  Our  playful 
spirit  had  gone  out  of  us  in  a  jiffy. 

"By  the  great  horn  spoon!"  Pearl  exclaimed. 

"Me  being  a  gentleman,  what  can  I  do?"  Mr. 
McCarthy  inquired. 

"  Well,  first  you  go  to  New  York  an'  get  your 
self  a  decent  leg,  if  you  can  afford  it,"  said  the 
Pearl  of  great  price.  "There's  a  man  by  the 
name  o'  Marks  made  a  leg  for  a  friend  o'  mine. 
He  wears  a  shoe  an'  walks  as  well  as  ever.  Ye 
wouldn't  know  that  he  had  a  wooden  leg.  It's 
a  case  o'  wood  an'  wouldn't." 

"That's  a  good  idea,"  said  Mr.  McCarthy. 

"Then  you  can  tell  her  that  you're  really 
better  off  than  you  was  before  the  accident — that 
you've  only  half  the  liability  to  pains  in  the  feet. 
Go  to  work  an'  pile  up  some  money,  an'  show 
her  that  nobody  has  any  license  to  be  sorry  for 
you.  Maybe  you'll  see  your  chance  by-an'-by." 

"  I  believe  that  I'm  going  to  be  a  rich  man," 
said  Mr.  McCarthy.  "I  kind  o'  feel  it  in  my 
bones." 

"My  bones  are  beginnin'  to  talk  to  me,"  said 
the  Pearl,  as  he  moved  in  his  seat  a  little.  "  We 
must  begin  to  look  for  a  camping-place." 

The  sun  had  gone  down,  and  glowing  bars  of 
cloud  were  drifting  over  the  west.  Their  re 
flection  made  a  Ipng,  golden  raft  in  the  ripples. 

122 


Two  Important  Meetings 

The  raft  seemed  to  break  as  I  was  looking,  and 
its  timber  floated  far  and  wide  into  dusky  coves 
and  marshes,  and  some  of  it  went  leaping  through 
rapids  half  a  mile  below.  As  we  rode  along  in 
the  still  twilight,  Mr.  Pearl  sang  an  old  ballad 
in  a  voice  of  remarkable  power  and  sweetness. 
Well,  the  river  and  the  shadows  and  the  sky 
sang  with  him,  as  I  am  well  aware,  but  no  music 
ever  got  so  deep  in  me  as  that  did. 

We  got  out  on  a  pebble  beach.  There  were 
grassy  shores,  close-cropped  by  cattle,  near  us, 
and  a  hard-wood  grove.  The  Pearl  began  to 
put  up  his  tent,  while  we  gathered  a  bit  of  wood 
for  a  fire,  and  spread  our  supper  on  a  big  napkin. 
When  we  had  eaten,  Mr.  Pearl  removed  his  coat 
and  vest  from  a  carpet-bag.  He  spread  the  coat 
over  his  shoulders,  but  hung  the  vest  on  a  stick, 
which  he  had  driven  into  the  ground  beside  him. 
He  had  turned  it  inside  out,  so  that  two  medals, 
pinned  to  its  lining,  could  be  seen  in  the  firelight. 

"What  are  they?"  Mr.  McCarthy  asked. 

"Medals  of  honor."  The  Pearl  spoke  care 
lessly  as  he  was  filling  his  pipe. 

"Medals  of  honor!"  exclaimed  Mr.  McCarthy. 
"How  did  you  get  'em?" 

"  Won  'em  in  the  Mexican  War." 

"Why  don't  you  wear  'em  on  the  outside  of 
your  jacket?"  Mr.  McCarthy  inquired. 

123 


The    Hand-Made    Gentleman 

"I  rise  to  a  point  of  order,"  said  the  Pearl, 
as  he  got  to  his  feet.  "If  I  had  a  thousand 
dollars,  would  I  wear  it  on  the  outside  o'  my 
pocket?  Or  if  I  was  Mr.  McCarthy,  would  I 
have  to  tell  people  that  I  was  a  gentleman?" 

The  Pearl  gathered  power  like  a  locomotive 
when  he  got  to  going.  His  words  conveyed  a 
message  of  special  value  to  Mr.  McCarthy. 

"  Never  want  to  show  your  cards  more  than  is 
necessary  before  you  play  'em,"  the  Pearl  con 
tinued.  "  I  could  have  used  those  medals  to  get 
a  job  many  a  time  when  I  wouldn't,  any  more 
than  you'd  let  a  girl  marry  you  out  o'  pity. 
There  have  been  years  when  I  wa'n't  as  good  as 
the  medals — there's  the  truth  of  it.  Every 
night  when  I  go  to  bed  I  hang  that  vest  on  a 
chair,  wrong  side  out,  an'  take  a  look  at  'em,  an* 
try  to  make  myself  as  good  as  they  are." 

"Tell  me  how  you  won  them?"  Mr.  McCarthy 
urged. 

"That  isn't  in  the  order  o'  exercises,"  the 
Pearl  went  on.  "The  chair  begs  to  advise  the 
gentleman  from  Hermon  Center  that  if  he,  the 
said  gentleman,  ever  succeeds  in  doing  a  big 
thing,  the  sooner  he  forgets  it  the  longer  it  will  be 
remembered.  If  a  man  makes  his  history  it's 
all  that  can  be  expected  o'  him.  Somebody  else 
ought  to  do  the  tellin',  if  it  has  to  be  told." 

124 


Two   Important  Meetings 

"That's  sound,"  said  Mr.  McCarthy,  "and  I'm 
going  to  put  it  down  in  my  note-book." 

"I'm  goin*  to  forget  it,"  said  the  Pearl,  as  he 
began  to  prepare  for  bed. 

We  were  up  at  sunrise  in  the  morning.  Late 
that  day  we  landed,  and  Pearl  took  the  canoe 
on  his  back  and  we  put  across  country.  A  walk 
of  six  miles  brought  us  to  our  own  river,  and  we 
saved  thereby  a  day  of  water  travel.  The  sun 
was  low  when  we  wet  our  canoe  again. 

"  The  committee  on  refreshments  will  please  re 
port,"  said  Mr.  Pearl,  when  he  had  put  down  his 
load. 

Mr.  McCarthy  reported  by  laying  out  three 
pieces  of  cheese,  half  a  dozen  crackers,  and  a  bit 
of  dried  beef. 

The  Pearl  called  "Mr.  Barker,"  and  when  the 
animal  stood  up  before  him,  said:  "The  chair 
respectfully  suggests  that  without  food  it  will 
soon  have  no  leg  to  stand  on.  You  should 
cultivate  the  virtue  of  thoughtfulness.  Do  not 
wait  to  be  told,  Mr.  Barker,  but  always  consider 
what  is  to  be  done,  and  do  it." 

If  the  Pearl  had  advice  to  give  he  invariably 
addressed  it  to  "Mr.  Barker,"  and  so  it  came  to 
us  through  the  dog,  as  one  might  say,  and  was 
never  lost  upon  us. 

Mr.  McCarthy  and  I  hurried  away,  while  Mr. 
125 


The   Hand-Made  Gentleman 

Pearl  got  a  fire  going.  We  were  both  ashamed 
that  the  idea  of  increasing  our  stores  had  not 
occurred  to  us.  We  returned  soon  with  eggs 
and  bacon,  and  new  bread  and  coffee,  and  all 
needed  appliances. 

"I  move  that  the  report  be  laid  on  the  table," 
said  Mr.  Pearl,  as  he  began  to  warm  the  spider. 

I  think  always  with  a  grateful  heart  of  that 
supper,  which  we  ate  in  the  cool  twilight,  with 
a  knoll  for  a  table,  and,  for  a  cloth,  a  mat  of  grass 
interwoven  with  white  clover  blossoms.  It  was 
quite  dusk  when  we  launched  the  canoe  and  re 
sumed  our  journey. 

Had  I  words  fit  for  beauty  and  delight,  I 
should  try  to  tell  of  our  night  journey  on  the 
river — of  the  wondrous  flattery  of  moon  and 
shadow,  of  wet  banks  showered  with  "barbaric 
pearl,"  of  geese  that  sailed  by,  magnified  to 
swanlike  size,  of  a  little  village  on  the  shore, 
whose  painted  boards  shone  like  white  marble 
and  filled  the  eye  with  illusions  of  splendor  and 
grand  proportion. 

When  we  were  over  the  last  carry  at  Mill  Pond 
the  hand-made  gentleman  fell  asleep,  but  we 
kept  on  with  a  steady  stroke  of  the  paddles.  I 
would  not  be  the  first  to  speak  of  stopping,  for 
every  stroke  brought  me  nearer  home,  and  the 
thought  of  it! — worth  all  the  misery  and  peril 

126 


Two  Important  Meetings 

I  had  known.  Near  two  o'clock  we  got  out 
on  the  shore,  a  mile  below  the  Mill  House, 
and  lay  down  with  our  blankets  and  went  to 
sleep. 

The  sunlight  and  the  robins  wakened  us.  It 
was  one  of  my  best  days — that  of  my  return. 
So  much  of  it  has  come  along  up  the  road  with 
me!  Especially  I  remember  its  glad  faces  and 
the  touch  of  its  loving  hands,  and  the  sound  of 
its  gentle  voices  and  its  peace.  Who  can  esti 
mate  the  value  of  such  a  day  save  one  who  has 
been  blessed  with  it?  True,  the  moments  go 
like  falling  water,  but  they  return  and  are  never 
quite  ended,  after  all. 

The  cascade  seemed  to  sing  a  welcome  with 
its  big,  hearty  voice.  The  garden  flowers  ex 
pressed  my  happiness  in  color,  and  sent  their  per 
fume  to  bid  me  welcome  at  the  gate. 

The  Pearl  and  the  hand-made  gentleman 
turned  away  while  I  went  up  the  old  stair  with 
my  arms  around  my  mother  and  sister,  now 
dearer  than  ever  to  me.  We  sat  down  upon  the 
old  sofa,  and  I  began  to  ravel  out  my  follies. 
They  rose  to  prepare  breakfast,  and  I  looked 
about  me.  There  were  the  familiar  three  com 
mandments  of  my  mother  hanging  on  the  wall: 

BE  TRUTHFUL.          BE   KIND.          BE   HAPPY. 

127 


The    Hand-Made    Gentleman 

"If  I  had  told  the  truth  to  Mr.  Weatherby  I 
would  never  have  gone  away,"  was  my  remark. 

"The  more  truth  the  less  trouble,"  said  my 
mother.  "It  keeps  you  in  the  right  road.  If 
you're  going  to  tell  the  truth  you've  got  to  make 
it  worth  telling,  or,  at  least,  good  enough  so  that 
you  will  not  be  ashamed  of  it." 

While  we  had  learned  those  three  command 
ments,  not  until  now  had  I  begun  to  feel  the 
power  in  them. 

I  looked  about  me  at  all  the  familiar  things: 
the  pictures — especially  a  crayon  portrait  of  my 
father  —  the  mottos,  wrought  in  colored  yarn. 
Wisdom  was  more  available  than  art  those  days 
in  the  north  country,  and  the  walls  of  many  a 
simple  home  were  decorated  with  the  sayings 
of  bard  or  prophet,  each  neatly  framed.  My 
mother's  mottos  were  all  her  own,  however. 
She  was  a  daughter  of  the  pioneers  who  had 
learned  much  in  a  hard  school  of  experience. 
The  best  of  it  all  had  come  down  to  her,  and 
was  a  bit  refined  by  her  own  thought.  There 
was  a  kind  of  history  in  those  mottos  that  hung 
on  the  walls  of  the  Mill  House — the  heart  history 
of  men  who  had  had  to  think  for  themselves.  I 
read  them  anew  and  thoughtfully : 

The  kindly  will  never  want  a  friend; 
The  mean  will  never  lack  an  enemy. 
128 


Two   Important   Meetings 

One  good  word  deserves  another, 
But  receives  more  than  it  deserves. 

To-day  is  the  best  of  all  days, 
But  to-morrow  will  be  better. 

Let  heaven  begin  here. 


After  all  my  regretful  thinking  on  that  journey, 
which  had  now  come  to  its  end,  these  words  be 
gan  to  fill  with  meaning.  That  last  injunction, 
printed  in  golden  threads,  sank  deeply  into  my 
heart  and  led  to  this  conviction:  that  the  Mill 
House  was  one  of  the  outlying  provinces  of 
heaven;  far  removed,  maybe,  but  still  as  much 
a  part  of  it  as  those  isles  ten  thousand  miles  from 
London  are  a  part  of  the  British  Empire. 

Breakfast  being  ready,  I  went  down  after  my 
good  friends.  The  Pearl  would  not  come  in. 

"Just  hand  me  a  little  snack,"  said  he;  "I 
ain't  fit  to  go  in." 

He  would  not  yield  to  urging,  and  so  I  brought 
his  breakfast  to  him,  and  he  sat  down  and  ate 
at  the  foot  of  the  stairway. 

My  mother  and  sister  sat  at  the  table  with  Mr. 
McCarthy  and  me.  The  manners  of  the  hand 
made  gentleman  became  exceedingly  formal. 
He  spoke  only  when  spoken  to,  save  when  he 
said: 

9  129 


The    Hand-Made    Gentleman 

"May  I  be  so  bold  as  to  ask  for  a  glass  of 
water?" 

When  I  suggested  the  subject  of  Sal,  he  be 
gan  to  relax,  and  went  to  his  grip  and  grave 
ly  presented  my  mother  with  a  dozen  balls 
of  it. 

The  breakfast  over,  my  mother  went  below- 
stairs  with  me  to  thank  Mr.  Pearl  for  his  kind 
ness,  but  he  was  gone.  I  found  her  looking  up 
the  river,  where  he  was  going  out  of  sight,  far 
up  the  shaded  avenue  of  water,  in  his  canoe. 
She  looked  very  sad  as  I  walked  to  the  garden 
with  her. 

"Come,  let  us  look  at  the  flowers,"  she  said, 
as  she  put  her  arm  about  me.  "These  roses 
have  just  opened  this  morning;  they  have  been 
waiting  for  you,  and  so  has  this  letter." 

My  heart  quickened,  for  I  had  seen  the  post 
mark  and  the  girlish  penmanship  on  the  envelope, 
and  had  caught  its  odor  of  violets.  Eagerly  I 
broke  the  seal,  and  read  as  follows: 

DEAR  FRIEND,  —  I  have  just  been  picking  flowers, 
and  they  reminded  me  of  your  letter.  I  have  not  for 
gotten  you;  everything  that  is  beautiful  makes  me 
think  of  those  days  when  you  were  here — we  had  such 
a  good  time ;  at  least,  I  did.  I  should  like  to  hear  from 
you  often,  but  I  don't  want  you  to  think  that  I  care 
so  very,  very  much.  I  wouldn't  want  to  have  you 
try  to  remember  me.  I  still  have  my  troubles,  but 

130 


Two  Important  Meetings 

they  are  not  quite  so  dreadful.  Last  night  my  father 
brought  home  another  young  man.  I  do  not  like  him ; 
he  has  such  a  queer  way  of  staring  into  my  eyes,  and 
can  talk  of  nothing  but  dogs  and  horses.  Fannie  has 
come  back,  and  Sam  is  with  her.  He  is  going  to  take 
care  of  the  garden  and  the  grounds  until  they  can  find 
a  farm.  Fannie  says  that  he  has  got  over  being  afraid 
and  is  very  affectionate.  I  think  of  you  often,  and  of 
those  pleasant  evenings  that  we  had  together,  and  of 
all  that  you  went  through.  I  wonder  if  you  would 
dare  come  again!  Well,  I  am  sure  that  I  shall  never 
get  another  letter  from  you,  even,  but  I  wish  you  good 
luck,  anyway. 

Yours  truly,  Jo. 

P.  S. — I  have  made  this  letter  short  for  fear  it  would 
bore  you. 

It  was  my  first  letter  from  a  fair  maid,  and 
what  a  state  of  mind  it  put  me  in!  My  mother 
read  it  with  a  smile. 

"It's  a  pretty  letter,"  said  she. 

"Not  so  pretty  as  Jo,"  I  answered.  Then  I 
told  about  my  visit  in  Summerville. 

"  And  the  girl  is  alone  with  that  old  drunkard  ?" 
said  my  mother. 

"Yes." 

"Too  bad!     I  wish  I  could  see  her." 

"I  love  her,"  I  said,  soberly. 

"Child!"  she  exclaimed,  "you're  not  yet 
sixteen." 

"A  boy  has  feelings,"  I  protested.     "If  I'm 


The    Hand-Made    Gentleman 

not  in  love,   I'd  like  to  know  what  it  is  that 
makes  me  feel  as  I  do.     I  would  die  for  her." 

"Yes — yes,  I  know,"  she  answered,  holding 
my  hand  in  hers.  "  I  was  like  you  when  I  was 
a  young  miss — thought  I  was  in  love  two  or 
three  times  when  I  was  not.  Write  to  her  if 
you  wish,  but  you  must  be  fair  to  her.  Don't 
say  a  word  about  it  until  you  see  if  it  lasts.  She 
may  not  care  for  you,  anyway." 

This  letter  made  me  sure  that  she  did  care  for 
me,  however,  and  that  and  others  like  it  were, 
indeed,  the  treasures  of  my  youth.  The  notion 
of  being  fair  to  her  grew  in  me,  for,  after  all,  my 
heart  had  had  its  change,  and  was  it  now  to  be 
wholly  trusted  ? 

Mr.  McCarthy  met  us  at  the  stairs. 

'  'I've  been  reading  your  three  commandments," 
said  he  to  my  mother.  "Are  they  in  the  Bible  ?" 

"Yes;  but  I  got  them  out  of  the  Book  of 
Nature,"  said  she.  "You  learn  to  be  truthful 
by  the  study  of  men,  for  what  is  a  man  unless 
he  is  himself — the  thing  he  pretends  to  be? 
Kindness — I  learned  that  from  the  earth,  where 
we  all  reap  as  we  sow,  and  everything  that  lives 
teaches  us  to  be  happy.  These  birds  and  flow 
ers — see  how  happy  they  are !  And  this  boy  of 
mine  just  returned  from  the  path  of  error — who 
could  be  happier  than  he  is?" 

132 


Two  Important  Meetings 

"That's  sound,"  said  the  hand-made  gentle 
man.  "  I  'm  going  to  write  it  down  in  my  book. ' ' 

He  sat  down  and  wrote  while  she  helped  him 
a  little  in  the  phrasing  of  his  notes. 

"I  must  devote  myself  to  business,"  said  Mr. 
McCarthy,  when  he  had  closed  the  book.  "I 
will  visit  the  leading  villages  in  the  county,  and 
return  as  expeditiously  as -possible." 

He  glanced  at  me  as  if  to  note  the  effect  of 
this  impressive  declaration. 

"Good  luck;  and  remember  here  is  always  a 
good  welcome,"  my  mother  said  to  him,  as  he 
took  the  road  to  Heartsdale. 


Book    Two 

In  which  Cricket  Takes  the  Road  to  Manhood 
and  Meets  with  Sundry  Mishaps 


STAGE   I 


IN  WHICH  CRICKET  COMES  TO  A  QUEER  STOPPING- 
PLACE    ON   THE    ROAD   TO    MANHOOD 

R.  PEARL  had  opened  a  little 
shop  in  Heartsdale.  It  was  up  an 
alley  next  to  a  large  mill,  where 
he  could  connect  his  shaft  with 
river-power.  A  smooth  board,  let 
tered  with  his  own  brush  and  nailed  above  his 
door,  contained  the  words: 

PEARL    &    COMPANY 

One  bright,  still  morning  in  the  early  summer 
I  walked  to  Heartsdale  to  begin  my  career  anew. 
My  mother  wished  me  to  be  near  home,  and  I 
was  on  my  way  to  the  shop  of  B.  Crocket  &  Son, 
marble-cutters,  who  were  making  a  monument 
for  my  father.  They  were  going  to  teach  me  their 
trade.  Heartsdale  had  always  made  me  believe  it 
very  large  and  myself  very  little.  Its  buildings 
and  its  people  had  seemed  to  look  down  upon  me 


The   Hand-Made   Gentleman 

from  a  great  height.  Now  that  I  had  been  to 
Buffalo,  that  old  feeling  of  awe  and  littleness 
had  gone  out  of  me  and  must  be  now,  I  believed, 
in  the  breast  of  Heartsdale  itself,  and  I  carried 
my  head  high. 

From  the  eminence  of  my  conceit  I  got  a  full 
view  of  its  languor  and  littleness.  Even  the 
river  slowed  its  pace  half  a  mile  above  and  came 
on  like  a  spent  horse.  Near  the  Mill  House 
half  a  mile  below  it  began  to  hurry,  and  always 
I  had  the  stir  of  the  rapids  in  me. 

Feet  accustomed  to  the  pace  of  the  plow 
were  going  into  town.  The  clink  of  an  anvil 
broke  the  silence.  I  had  often  watched  the  great 
blacksmith  as  he  worked.  That  clinking  in 
dicated  the  flow  of  his  thought  and  the  strength 
of  his  convictions.  Words  fell  between  hammer- 
strokes,  and  were  often  as  hot  as  the  beaten 
metal. 

The  shop  of  B.  Crocket  &  Son,  whither  I  was 
bound,  stood  on  a  narrow  byway  bordered  with 
small  wooden  buildings.  The  shop  itself  had  a 
little  door-yard  where  headstones  and  monu 
ments  stood  among  blocks  of  marble.  Inside 
were  benches  on  which  the  stone  was  being 
trimmed,  lettered,  and  polished.  There  every 
thing  was  white  with  marble-dust.  Mr.  B. 
Crocket — called  "Judge  Crocket"  by  all  who 

138 


Cricket  Comes  to  a  Queer  Stopping-Place 

knew  him,  and  so  called  because,  in  his  own  way, 
he  pronounced  judgment  on  those  who  lived  and 
died  about  him — stood  over  a  headstone  cutting 
an  epitaph.  A  number  of  men  past  middle  age 
sat  around  a  small  table  in  one  corner  playing 
old  sledge.  They  looked  up  at  me  as  I  entered. 
A  man  and  a  red-headed  boy,  the  latter  of  about 
my  age,  were  polishing  a  block  of  granite  near 
the  far  end  of  the  shop.  I  approached  the  Judge 
and  bade  him  good-morning.  He  looked  down 
out  of  gray  eyes  colder  than  the  marble  on  which 
he  leaned.  His  pale,  wizened  face  was  itself  a 
wonderful  bit  of  sculpture. 

"Are  you  the  young  Heron?"  he  asked. 

The  men  who  were  playing  cards  began  to 
laugh,  and  I  was  a  bit  stung  by  it,  having  a 
strong  sense  of  dignity. 

"I  am  Mr.  Heron,"  was  my  answer. 

"Huh!"  my  new  employer  grunted.  "Take 
off  your  mister  and  your  coat  and  vest  and  put 
on  a  pair  of  overalls." 

The  men  laughed  loudly,  in  spite  of  the  fact 
that  I  had  been  to  Buffalo.  I  felt  inclined  to 
resent  his  words,  but  held  my  tongue  and  did 
as  he  bade  me,  for  I  had  brought  some  overalls  in 
my  satchel. 

He  went  on  with  his  work,  and  said,  presently, 
that  his  son  would  tell  me  what  to  do.  The 


The    Hand-Made   Gentleman 

latter  did  not  give  me  a  mallet  and  chisel,  as  I 
had  hoped,  but  set  me  polishing  with  the  red 
headed  boy  of  my  own  age,  familiarly  known 
as  "Swipes."  I  had  been  reading  the  life  of 
Michelangelo,  which  my  mother  had  bought  for 
me,  and  dreaming  of  high  achievements.  It 
had  come  to  nothing  but  sweating  over  a  hand- 
lathe  and  slopping  in  dirty  water. 

Two  of  those  who  played  at  the  table  were  old 
soldiers,  the  third  a  business  man,  the  fourth 
a  retired  farmer.  One,  with  an  empty  sleeve, 
entered  presently  and  sat  on  a  half -finished 
monument  that  lay  near  them,  as  if  accepting 
the  invitation  cut  in  its  polished  face,  "Re- 
quiescat  in  pace."  He  begged  a  chew  of  tobacco, 
and  began  to  talk,  telling  how  he  got  tobacco 
hunger  in  a  battle  and  searched  for  it  in  the 
pockets  of  the  dead.  The  other  soldiers  took 
the  cue  and  told  of  many  a  like  adventure  as 
they  played  their  game.  The  retired  farmer  was 
not  unlike  them,  for  he,  too,  had  begun  his  long 
rest.  He  of  the  one  arm  passed  a  bottle  as  the 
game  ended.  Then  all  seemed  to  pry  themselves 
out  of  their  chairs  with  levers  of  necessity. 

"I've  got  to  go,"  said  one,  as  he  yawned. 

"So  've  I,"  said  another. 

"Here  goes,"  said  number  three.  All  rose, 
save  one,  and  tried  their  creaking  joints. 

140 


Cricket  Comes  to  a  Queer  Stopping-Place 

It  was  Mr.  Bulford  Boggs,  the  undertaker, 
who  remained  in  his  chair — he  that  was  known 
far  and  wide  as  "Bull"  Boggs.  His  shop  was 
across  the  way,  and  a  line  of  parlor  furniture 
filled  its  front  window.  He  was  a  full-bodied 
man  with  a  prominent  nose  and  a  short  upper 
lip,  and  wore  a  high  flaring  collar  and  side- 
whiskers,  now  turned  gray,  and  got  soothing 
draughts  of  indolence  from  a  big,  meerschaum 
pipe.  I  remember  that  his  nose  and  front  and 
calm  expression  reminded  me  of  a  meadow-lark. 
It  did  seem  to  me  often  that  he  resented  human 
life.  There  were  times  when,  as  he  looked  at 
one,  his  whole  manner  thus  expressed  itself: 

"What!  you  living?  Good  Heavens,  man! 
How  do  you  expect  me  to  get  along  in  business 
and  you  living  on  forever?  Why  don't  you  go 
hang  yourself?" 

Soon  Mr.  Crocket,  who  had  been  working  silent 
ly  on  a  headstone,  rested  his  chisel  and  looked  at 
Mr.  Boggs.  Then  he  read,  with  quaint  irony,  the 
flattering  inscription  that  he  had  finished : 

"It  was  her  turn,"  he  said.  "She  was  the 
survivor  of  three  husbands." 

He  continued  pecking  at  the  stone  and  also  at 
the  character  of  the  deceased  lady.  His  mono 
logue  was  broken  by  the  sound  of  his  mallet, 
and  I  remember  it  went  on  as  follows: 

141 


The   Hand-Made   Gentleman 

"Couldn't  even  live  with  herself  [whack]. 
Tried  it  [whack],  an'  died  [whack]." 

Mr.  Boggs  gave  a  roar  of  joy  as  he  held  his  big 
pipe  in  his  hand. 

"Reminds  me  of  Harrison  White  [whack, 
whack].  He  traded  me  a  horse  for  a  family 
monument,  an' — wal,  he  got  it  for  nothing.  That 
horse  began  to  waste  away.  Come  to  find  out  he 
was  twenty-four  years  old.  The  horse  got  the 
heaves,  an'  Harrison  got  religion,  but  I  got  noth 
ing.  Come  here  one  day  an'  offered  to  pray  for 
me  [whack].  I  told  him  to  pray  for  the  old 
horse.  He  gave  me  up.  The  old  horse  died  an' 
so  did  Harrison.  Oh,  I've  seen  'em  come  an'  go 
for  a  good  many  years  [whack,  whack,  whack]. 
What  do  you  suppose  they  wrote  out  for  an  in 
scription  to  go  under  his  name?" 

"I  heard  once,  but  I've  forgotten,"  growled 
the  undertaker. 

" '  He  paid  the  debt,' "  said  the  Judge,  soberly, 
with  another  whack.  "  I  added  something  free 
of  charge,  an'  it  was  this,  '  but  not  the  one  due 
me.— B.  Crocket.'" 

Mr.  Boggs,  who  sat  watching  the  door  of  his 
shop  across  the  way  as  he  listened,  let  out  his 
mirth  in  heavy  bolts  of  sound. 

There  was  to  be  a  political  meeting,  and  the 
town  was  filling  up  with  people.  Mr.  Crocket 

142 


Cricket  Comes  to  a  Queer  Stopping-Place 

and  his  friend  went  to  the  open  door  of  the 
marble-shop  and  looked  at  the  crowds  passing 
in  the  main  street.  Soon  the  Judge  returned 
to  his  task,  and  Mr.  Boggs  stood  looking  out  of 
the  door. 

"They've  all  got  to  die,"  said  the  latter, 
cheerfully,  as  he  surveyed  the  people.  "When 
ever  I  get  blue  I  just  think  o'  that  an'  take 
courage." 

These  hard  old  cynics  were  to  me  a  new  kind 
of  people.  They  rejoiced  in  death — in  the  de 
struction  of  hopes,  in  the  slaughter  of  reputations. 
Their  rough  word-play  gave  my  young  soul  a 
shock  that  I  have  not  yet  forgotten.  It  went 
on  day  after  day,  while  I  wore  away  the  cold 
marble  and  my  tender  youth. 

The  whole  place  and  its  people  reminded  me 
of  those  lines  which  I  had  heard  the  minister 
quote  in  a  sermon: 

"The  knell,  the  shroud,  the  mattock,  and  the  grave, 
The  deep,  dank  vault,  the  darkness,  and  the  worm." 

But  I  made  no  complaint,  for  my  first  under 
taking  had  come  to  naught,  and  if  I  failed  again 
what  would  they  think  of  me — especially  Jo  and 
my  mother.  My  employer  pecked  away  at  the 
epitaphs  with  his  chisel  and  amended  them  with 


The    Hand-Made   Gentleman 

his  conversation.  Every  morning  Mr.  Boggs 
and  his  three  companions  sat  in  a  corner  playing 
old  sledge  and  boarding  their  cards  with  ap 
palling  thumps  in  trying  stages  of  the  game,  and, 
after  each  hand-,  loudly  confessing  their  calcu 
lations. 

"If  we  don't  win  this  game  I'll  bury  you  for 
nothing,"  was  one  of  the  cheering  and  familiar 
promises  of  Mr.  Boggs. 

The  undertaker  had  a  wise  and  threatening  air 
about  him.  He  often  bullied  people,  using  loud 
words  and  a  pouncing  manner.  Sometimes  he 
gave  advice  with  a  wearied  look  of  toleration, 
and  oh,  the  sadness  of  Mr.  Boggs  at  a  funeral! 
The  three  friends  went  away  soon  after  eleven 
o'clock,  whereupon,  if  there  were  "nothing  doing" 
—  an  oft-repeated  phrase  of  the  undertaker  —  he 
used  to  sit  talking  with  the  Judge  or  reading  a 
newspaper.  One  day  he  fell  asleep  in  his  chair. 
Mr.  Crocket  printed  this  inscription  on  a  sheet 
of  cardboard  and  leaned  it  against  the  knees  of 
the  undertaker: 


&acreb  to  tf»  .JUSemorp  of  %. 


The  Judge  surveyed  him  with  a  playful  eye, 
and  added,  "He  is  certainly  the  flower  o'  the 
village."  It  was  an  apt  symbol,  for  he  was,  in- 

144 


Cricket  Comes  to  a  Queer  Stopping-Place 

deed,  one  of  the  most  perfect  flowers  of  rustic 
commercialism  that  ever  bloomed. 

The  village  boys  relieved  the  monotony  of  my 
life  with  sundry  insults.  Having  travelled  far, 
as  I  thought,  and  endured  many  perils,  and 
having,  moreover,  a  proud  spirit,  I  was,  for  my 
age  and  size,  a  bit  nearer  the  goal  of  manhood 
than  most  of  them,  and  my  dignity  was  natural 
enough.  They  resented  it  with  jeers  and  epithets 
and  stickings  out  of  the  tongue. 

Mr.  Crocket  and  his  son  went  home  at  five, 
while  I  and  the  red-headed  boy  continued  our 
labor  until  six  o'clock. 

Swipes  himself  was  a  melancholy  youth  who 
had  once  swallowed  a  shingle -nail  and  who 
cherished  a  great  fear  of  it.  For  poor  Swipes 
that  shingle-nail  was  like  the  sword  of  Damocles. 
The  first  evening  that  we  were  alone  together 
in  the  shop  he  confided  his  worst  fears  to  me, 
and  asked  if  I  knew  of  any  medicine  that  would 
be  likely  to  do  him  good.  He  complained  of 
pain  in  the  pit  of  his  stomach. 

"I've  took  half  a  bottle  of  horse  liniment  that 
I  found  here  in  the  shop,"  said  he.  "It  may 
help  some." 

He  was  deeply  interested  in  the  great  fist- 
fighters,  and  his  hero  was  John  Morrissey.  In 
the  last  hour  of  work  one  day,  after  the  Crockets 

10  145 


The    Hand-Made   Gentleman 

had  gone  home,  three  or  four  boys  of  about  our 
age  gathered  in  the  shop.  We  had  removed  our 
overalls  and  were  getting  ready  to  go,  when 
Swipes  approached  me.  His  fists  were  moving 
playfully. 

"I  could  put  an  epitaph  on  that  face  o' 
your'n,"  he  threatened. 

"It  would  be  your  epitaph,"  I  answered, 
promptly. 

The  others  laughed  and  urged  me  to  go  on. 

He  began  to  jump  up  and  down,  with  his  fists 
out  in  front  of  me. 

"Fight  me,  fight  me,  if  you  ain't  a  coward!" 
he  hissed. 

That  word  was  more  than  I  could  endure.  I 
flew  at  Swipes  like  a  panther  and  floored  him. 
He  rose,  bleeding,  but  unwhipped.  We  fought 
fiercely  up  and  down  among  the  gravestones, 
and  in  a  moment  were  locked  together.  I  had 
the  under  hold  and  forced  him  into  the  water- 
tub.  Swipes  said  that  would  do,  and  I  released 
my  hold  upon  him.  He  rose,  dripping,  and 
offered  me  his  hand. 

"You're  all  right,"  said  he,  cheerfully.  "I 
only  wanted  to  know  if  you  could  fight." 

He  had  a  kind  of  pride  in  his  bruised  face,  and 
would  not  let  me  wash  away  the  blood. 

Directly  another  boy  began  to  dance  in  front 
146 


Cricket  Comes  to  a  Queer  Stopping-Place 

of  me.  It  was  a  desperate  battle  I  had  then, 
and  Swipes,  when  he  saw  me  getting  the  worst 
of  it,  broke  in  for  the  sake  of  fairness. 

"It  ain't  right,"  said  he.  "You  tackled  him 
when  he  was  tired." 

The  bout  ended,  and  Swipes  gave  me  his  hand 
with  a  cheering  word  as  I  left  him. 

"I  told  'em  you  could  fight,"  he  whispered. 

I  had  a  hard  week  of  it  then,  for  they  were 
bound  to  know  what  I  was  made  of — those 
warlike  and  barbaric  people.  I  avenged  my 
wrongs,  and  stepped  off  the  plane  of  reprobation 
and  contempt  forever. 

I  tried  to  like  my  task,  and  worked  hard  and 
spent  three  evenings  a  week  with  Mr.  Pearl. 
He  lived  in  his  little  shop,  and  had  been  kind 
enough  to  offer  me  what  help  he  could  in  my 
studies.  He  had  some  learning,  a  rare  talent 
in  mathematics,  and  a  genius  for  explanation. 
I  brought  my  suppers  with  me,  and  we  often  ate 
together. 

The  first  time  I  entered  the  shop,  after  my  week 
of  battle,  the  Pearl  looked  at  me  and  laughed. 

"Confound  that  dog!"  he  exclaimed. 

The  dog  stood  up  before  him. 

"I've  often  talked  to  you  about  fighting," 
said  the  Pearl.  "I  want  t'  tell  you  again  it's 
poor  business,  Mr.  Barker." 


The   Hand-Made    Gentleman 

"He's  an  awful  quarrelsome  cuss,"  he  added, 
as  he  dismissed  the  dog  and  turned  to  me  with 
an  apology  for  delay. 

We  had  scarcely  begun  our  work  when  Mr. 
McCarthy  entered.  He  had  two  good  legs  under 
him — so  one  might  have  thought — and  a  shoe 
on  each  foot,  and  a  step  like  that  of  a  sound 
man.  He  was  "all  dressed  up,"  as  they  used  to 
say,  and  a  bit  too  well  aware  of  it.  He  took  off 
his  hat  and  bowed  politely. 

"Gentleman,"  said  he,  "Mr.  McCarthy  pre 
sents  his  compliments." 

"I  see  that  your  off  foot  is  on,"  said  Mr. 
Pearl. 

"It's  better  than  ever,"  said  Mr.  McCarthy. 

"That's  good!"  exclaimed  the  Pearl.  "You 
can  now  make  footprints  in  the  sands  of  time." 

"Yes,  I've  got  a  pair  o'  feet  and  a  new  leg 
on  my  body,  and  five  thousand  dollars  in  the 
bank,  and  more  coming,"  Mr.  McCarthy  went  on, 
while  we  were  dumb  with  amazement.  "You'll 
find  Sal  in  every  drug  store  north  of  the  Central 
Road,  and  I'm  going  to  spread  it  all  over  Vermont 
and  Massachusetts.  Two  or  three  rivals  have 
sprung  up,  and  I've  bought  'em  out.  I've  got 
forty  people  at  work  in  my  central  factory, 
which  is  at  Rushwater,  New  York." 

"He's  geared  for  high  power,"  said  the  Pearl, 
148 


Cricket  Comes  to  a  Queer  Stopping-Place 

as  he  turned  to  me.  "He's  got  his  belt  on  the 
main  shaft." 

The  compliment  pleased  Mr.  McCarthy.  His 
eyes  glowed  and  his  fist  flashed  down  upon  the 
bench  before  him  with  a  loud  thump.  It  was 
the  deep  fire  of  his  spirit  showing  itself  in  a  kind 
of  lightning  thrust. 

"I'm  going  to  be  somebody!"  he  exclaimed. 

"If  you  can  find  use  for  it,  you'll  get  all  the 
power  you  need  right  off  the  big  engine,"  said 
Mr.  Pearl. 

"What  engine?" 

"The  one  that  runs  the  universe.  When 
you've  got  accommodation  for  high  power  it 
always  conies  to  you.  Then  look  out  for  the 
friction  an'  you're  all  right." 

After  a  moment  of  silence  he  turned  to  me  and 
said:  "I've  heard  about  the  three  command 
ments  of  your  house.  They're  like  those  of  my 
shop:  Take  your  power  off  the  main  shaft — 
that  means  truth.  Oil  your  bearings — kindness. 
Reduce  friction  as  much  as  possible — happiness. 
And  that  reminds  me,  how  is  your  gentleman?" 

The  Pearl  turned  to  Mr.  McCarthy  as  he  put 
the  query. 

"A  little  more  polished,"  said  the  latter.  "I 
think  his  deportment  has  improved,  an'  he  can 
converse  upon  many  subjects  or  write  an  elegant 

149 


The   Hand-Made  Gentleman 

letter.  He's  a  little  more  natural,  as  ye  might 
say,  and  has  so  much  else  to  think  of  he's  kind 
o'  forgot  himself.  He  reads  the  New  York 
Herald  every  day,  and  can  hold  an  argument  on 
politics  or  religion.  He  knows  all  the  points  in 
favor  of  the  protection  of  home  industries,  an' 
has  learnt  every  great  fact  in  American  history." 

"Except  one,"  said  the  Pearl  of  great  price. 

"What's  that?" 

"A  new  thing  discovered  by  H.  M.  Pearl,  Esq., 
which  is  singular  an'  likewise  worthy  of  your 
attention." 

The  Pearl  paused  for  a  moment  while  he  looked 
at  him.  "A  stream  o'  power  is  rushing  over 
those  wires,"  he  went  on.  "I'll  turn  it  into  an 
other  channel  an'  put  a  brake  on  it.  Then 
you'll  see  some  actions  calculated  to  produce 
loud  and  continued  applause." 

He  put  out  his  lamp  and  stepped  away  in  the 
darkness.  I  heard  the  turn  of  a  lever  and  then 
the  room  was  flooded  with  light.  We  gazed  at 
it  with  a  feeling  of  awe. 

"These  are  sticks  of  carbon,"  said  he,  pointing 
at  the  centre  of  the  glow.  "When  the  current 
strikes  the  carbon  it  comes  into  hard  sledding; 
there's  the  rub,  an'  the  rub  makes  heat  an'  the 
heat  gives  light,  and  the  light  gives  history  and 
feelin's  of  surprise  an'  happiness  in  the  breast 

150 


Cricket  Comes  to  a  Queer  Stopping-Place 

of  H.  M.  Pearl,  Esq.  Wait  until  he  gets  the 
voltage  he  needs  and  he  can  turn  night  into 
day." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  voltage?"  I  asked. 

He  took  us  over  to  the  hose  tank  that  was 
fastened  high  in  a  corner,  and  turned  the  faucet. 
Water  came  pouring  through  the  hose  into  a 
large  tub  on  the  floor. 

"The  voltage  is  the  squirt  of  the  stream,  and 
the  size  of  it  is  the  amperage,  and  the  watts  is 
the  hole  it  would  make  in  the  snow.  Do  you 
know  why  so  many  men  use  tobacco  in  this 
town?" 

"No,"  I  answered. 

"High  voltage  and  little  to  do,"  he  went  on. 
"Currents  o'  power  are  flowin'  into  us,  but — 
Lord! — we  don't  know  what  to  do  with  it.  We 
have  no  purpose,  no  gear,  no  machinery.  So 
we  let  it  off  in  all  kinds  o'  folly.  Look  at  the 
merchants  —  some  of  'em  are  strong  men,  but 
every  one  has  got  his  belt  on  a  pinwheel.  There's 
twenty  of  'em  an'  work  enough  for  two.  The 
only  men  in  town  who  are  sure  of  a  good  living 
are  the  undertaker  and  the  carver  of  epitaphs. 
We  all  die,  if  we  don't  do  anything  else." 

We  turned  again  to  the  light  and  expressed 
our  wonder. 

"Lie  low  an'  say  nothin',"  said  Mr.  Pearl,  as 


The  Hand-Made   Gentleman 

he  turned  the  lever.  "I'll  make  'em  roll  in  their 
sleep  one  o'  these  days.  All  I  need  is  money  for 
patents  an'  tools  an'  material." 

"I'll  furnish  it  some  day,"  said  the  young 
man. 

"An*  we'll  share  the  profits,"  said  H.  M.  Pearl, 
Esq.,  as  they  shook  hands. 

James  Henry  McCarthy  and  I  left  the  shop 
together.  I  asked  him  to  go  home  with  me,  but 
he  had  to  leave  early  next  day,  and  so  had  taken 
quarters  at  the  inn. 

"How  is  Miss  Fame?"  I  asked. 

"Splendid,"  was  his  answer.  "Do  you  sup 
pose  she'd  care  for  me  now?" 

"I  should  think  she  would,"  was  my  answer. 

' ' But  I  shall  not  ask  her, ' '  said  he.  "I  thought 
when  I  got  my  leg  and  handsome  clothes  and 
some  money  that  I'd  be  good  enough  for  any 
one;  but  when  I  went  to  see  her  the  other  day, 
it  seemed  as  if  she  was  a  little  cooler,  if  anything. ' ' 

There  was  a  note  of  sadness  in  the  voice  of 
Mr.  McCarthy.  He  went  on  in  a  moment: 

"I  conversed  with  her  on  the  subject  of  the 
Republican  nominations.  I  dropped  into  his 
tory  and  gave  a  quotation  from  Shakespeare, 
just  to  show  her  that  I  was  no  fool,  if  I  was  the 
son  of  old  Jack  McCarthy.  I  guess  I  let  out 
about  everything  that  I  knew.  I  just  told  her 

152 


Cricket  Comes  to  a  Queer  Stopping-Place 

that  I  was  making  money,  but  I  didn't  talk  shop 
— you  know,  gentlemen  never  do  that.  By-an'- 
by  she  took  my  hand  an'  said:  'You're  doing 
finely,  James.  I'm  delighted  that  you're  getting 
along  so  well.'  It  seemed  as  if  that  was  the 
worst  thing  she  could  have  said  to  me — the 
same  old  twaddle — as  if  I  needed  a  pat  on  the 
back.  She  never  asked  me  to  call  again." 

"Don't  let  it  worry  you,"  I  suggested. 

He  continued.  "After  all,  it  isn't  legs  or 
clothes  or  deportment  or  money  or  doing  as 
you'd  be  done  by  that  makes  a  gentleman — 
though  they  help  a  good  deal.  You've  got  to 
be  all  right,  and  then  forget  it,  and  it  can't  be 
done  in  a  day.  I'm  like  a  new  pair  o'  boots — 
they  pinch  a  little  here  and  there,  and  have  got 
too  much  of  a  squeak  in  'em." 


STAGE   II 


WHICH     BRINGS     CRICKET     TO     THE     STATION     OF 
REMORSE 

R.  CROCKET  played  a  bass  horn 
which  had  belonged  to  his  father. 
He  had  much  to  say  about  "the 
cause  of  good  music  in  Hearts- 
dale,"  and  both  he  and  Mr.  Boggs 
were  members  of  its  Cornet  Band.  Therein  lay 
the  weakest  point  in  Mr.  Crocket's  character. 
He  did  not  lie  or  use  tobacco  or  strong  drink  or 
profanity,  but  I  have  thought  sometimes  that 
he  would  have  done  well  to  change  his  sin  for 
one  more  private  and  compact,  for  the  old  horn 
cut  a  swath  a  mile  wide  in  the  silence.  It  had 
a  part  in  the  string  as  well  as  the  brass  band  of 
the  village. 

One  night,  more  than  a  year  after  my  initia 
tion  to  the  shop,  there  was  to  be  a  celebration 
of  the  nomination  of  Lincoln  for  President  and 
an  address  by  Colonel  Remington.  Capes  and 
helmets  for  the  musicians  had  been  sent  to  the 

154 


The  Station  of  Remorse 

marble- shop  and  were  stored  away  in  a  closet. 
Swipes  and  I  had  discovered  them.  Now,  it 
should  be  explained  that  Swipes  regarded  his 
shingle- nail  with  growing  apprehension.  He  had 
come  to  work  with  a  poultice  of  mustard  that 
morning.  I  had  seen  him  spitefully  withdraw 
it  from  his  bosom  and  fling  it  under  his  bench. 
When  the  Messrs.  Crocket  had  gone  home  we 
talked  of  the  shingle-nail,  and  I  observed  that 
he  had  great  respect  for  the  mustard  and  more 
confidence  in  his  future.  He  declared  that  his 
pains  had  been  drawn  to  the  outside  of  his  body, 
and  he  thought  that  a  safer  place  for  them.  He 
showed  me  the  blister,  and  as  we  surveyed  the 
same  an  evil  purpose  entered  the  mind  of  Swipes, 
and  I  regret  to  say  that  it  overflowed  into  my 
own. 

The  helmets  had  a  partial  lining  of  thin  cloth 
attached  to  the  visor.  Beneath  the  lining  of 
each  one  we  spread  a  mustard  paste  where  it 
would  afflict  the  forehead  of  the  player.  That 
done,  we  ate  our  suppers  and  went  out  to  see  the 
crowd.  At  half -past  seven  the  musicians  ap 
peared  in  front  of  the  Opera-House,  and  began 
work  at  once.  Soon  I  observed  that  three  or 
four  of  the  players  had  begun  to  perspire,  and 
were  moving  the  skin  of  their  foreheads.  The 
clarionet  lagged  and  fell  out  of  time.  Mr. 


The    Hand-Made  Gentleman 

Crocket  lost  the  run  of  the  score,  and  went  roar 
ing  on  for  a  moment  and  abandoned  the  chase. 
Swipes  nudged  me  as  the  marble-cutter  removed 
his  helmet.  The  others  were  struggling  with 
their  parts. 

The  clarionet  player  began  to  talk  to  himself. 
The  crowd  was  laughing  at  the  discords.  The 
Heartsdale  Cornet  Band  suddenly  gave  up,  and, 
oddly  enough,  on  the  first  phrase  of  Hail 
Columbia.  Every  player  uncovered  and  felt 
his  forehead  and  began  to  talk. 

Mr.  Boggs  muttered  and  seemed  to  threaten 
his  neighbor. 

"I  feel  as  if  I'd  blown  my  brains  out,"  said 
the  clarionet  player. 

"This  helmet  ought  to  be  spelt  with  a  double 
/,"  said  Mr.  Crocket,  as  he  felt  the  inside  of  his 
head -cover. 

Unfortunately,  we  stayed  too  long  and  laughed 
too  much.  Mr.  Crocket  discovered  us,  and  had 
a  stern  and  suspicious  look.  We  retreated 
promptly,  and  heard  no  more  from  the  band 
until  next  morning.  We  met  on  the  street  and 
entered  the  shop  together. 

"Boys,"  said  the  Judge,  "I've  got  a  present 
for  you." 

"What's  that?"  Swipes  inquired. 

"Hellmets,"  said  the  marble-cutter,  spelling 
156 


The  Station  of  Remorse 

the  word  with  a  double  /,  after  he  had  spoken  it — 
"a  pair  of  'em;  one  for  each  of  you.  Try  'em 
on." 

I  did  not  dare  refuse  the  honor,  and  poor 
Swipes  had  the  same  feeling.  The  helmets  were 
on  our  heads  in  a  minute. 

"They're  becoming,"  said  Mr.  Crocket.  "I 
like  to  see  'em  on  you." 

He  pulled  them  down  and  fastened  them  with 
a  strong  cord.  He  seemed  to  enjoy  tying  the 
knot  beneath  our  chins,  and  drew  it  tight. 

We  began  our  work,  and  were  presently  in  the 
tortures  of  full  atonement.  Swipes  dropped  his 
tools  by-and-by,  and  tried  in  vain  to  raise  the 
helmet  a  little. 

"I  guess  somebody  has  put  some  mustard  in 
this  helmet,"  said  he,  in  a  loud  voice. 

"Mustard!"  Mr.  Crocket  exclaimed.  "No 
body  would  be  mean  enough  for  that." 

"It  must  be,"  Swipes  persisted. 

"I  guess  you're  mistaken,"  said  Mr.  Crocket, 
calmly,  as  he  resumed  his  work.  "Leastways, 
if  there  is  mustard  in  'em,  it's  only  meant  for  a 
joke." 

Mr.  Boggs,  who  sat  in  his  corner,  began  to 
roar. 

"It's  hard  when  ye  have  to  invent  the  joke 
an'  take  it,  too,"  said  Mr.  Crocket, 


The   Hand-Made   Gentleman 

Swipes  seized  the  cord  and  put  all  his  strength 
upon  it. 

"You  fool,  don't  you  know  it's  funny?"  said 
the  marble-cutter. 

Swipes  could  see  no  occasion  for  laughter,  and 
continued  to  pull  the  string  until  it  came  free. 

"Look  here,  boy,  if  you  can't  take  your  own 
medicine  you'll  have  to  take  mine,"  said  Mr. 
Crocket,  sternly.  "You  may  pick  up  your 
things  an'  go;  I'm  done  with  you." 

Poor  Swipes!  Things  had  come  to  a  bad  turn 
for  him,  and  his  lips  were  trembling  as  he  pre 
pared  to  leave. 

The  thought  of  him,  then,  was  more  to  me 
than  my  own  torture.  He  was  poor  and  sorely 
needed  his  place.  I  should  not  have  done,  or 
permitted  him  to  do,  an  act  so  foolish  as  that  we 
had  been  guilty  of. 

So  I  spoke  up  for  him  with  odd  mendacity: 
"It  was  my  fault,  Mr.  Crocket.  Swipes  is  not 
to  blame.  I  put  the  mustard  into  those  helmets." 

It  is  past  finding  out — the  things  a  boy  will 
do  when  he  is  put  to  it. 

"Oh,  you  did,"  said  the  marble-cutter,  "you 
little-souled,  narrer,  contracted  cuss!" 

His  eyes  seemed  to  be  searching  me  for  other 
qualities  likely  to  serve  his  scorn.  He  added, 
with  a  look  of  sternness:  "Boy,  you've  done  a 
158 


The  Station  of  Remorse 

great  injury  to  the  cause  of  good  music  in 
Heartsdale!" 

I  wondered  if  music  had  suffered  more  than  I, 
and,  answered,  timidly:  "  It  was  only  meant  for  a 
joke." 

"Well,  the  joke  is  on  you,"  said  Mr.  Crocket, 
with  a  rude  look  at  me.  "You  are  both  dis 
charged." 

So  my  second  trial  in  business  came  to  its  end, 
and  people  began  to  shake  their  heads  and  say 
that  I  was  a  wild  boy  and  would  come  to  no  good. 

I  went  to  the  shop  of  my  old  friends,  "Pearl 
&  Barker,"  and  told  of  my  trouble.  The  Pearl 
had  a  thoughtful  look  on  his  face,  and  said  noth 
ing  for  a  few  moments. 

"  Confound  that  dog!"  he  exclaimed,  presently, 
and  began  to  call  Mr.  Barker.  The  dog  stood 
up  before  him. 

"You  rascal!"  the  Pearl  began,  "you'll  have 
to  take  another  dose.  I  trust  that  you  will  soon 
be  a  dog,  Mr.  Barker,  an'  get  over  bein'  a  puppy. 
Not  that  I  would  have  you  too  good — there  are 
no  angels  in  this  world,  Mr.  Barker.  But  I 
am  moved  to  suggest  that  you  always  show 
proper  respect  for  age." 

Every  word  that  he  said  to  "  Mr.  Barker"  sank 
into  my  soul,  and  made  me  see  how  foolish  I 
had  been. 


The   Hand-Made    Gentleman 

"Those  in  favor  of  reform  will  please  say  aye," 
said  the  Pearl,  and  Mr.  Barker  and  I  both  voted 
loudly.  "It  seems  to  be  carried — it  is  carried," 
the  Pearl  went  on,  and  then,  turning  to  me,  he 
added:  "That  dog  is  getting  a  good  deal  of 
useful  knowledge.  It  may  be  worth  your  while 
to  whack  up  with  him." 

It  was  said  gently,  and  yet,  somehow,  the  words 
fell  like  a  lash.  I  went  home  sore  with  remorse 
and  wrote  a  letter  of  apology  to  Judge  Crocket, 
and  fully  confessed  my  folly. 


STAGE   III 


HAT  evening  there  came  a  rap  at 
our  door,  and  when  I  opened  it 
who  should  walk  in  upon  us  but 
Sam — the  apprehensive  and  affec 
tionate  Sam. 

I  presented  him  to  my  mother  and  sister,  and 
he  removed  his  cap  and  coat  and  sat  down  with 
us.  In  his  Sunday  suit  and  manners  Sam  was 
neither  cheerful  nor  communicative.  I  tried  to 
talk  with  him  of  the  days  we  had  known  together, 
but  he  only  smiled  and  shook  his  head  with, 
now  and  then,  a  timid  exclamation.  When  my 
mother  and  sister  had  gone  to  bed  he  nudged 
my  leg  and  whispered: 
"Le'  's  go  outdoors." 

We  went  down  the  road  together,   and  he 
turned  to  me  and  said: 
"I'm  up  a  stump." 
"What's  the  matter?"  I  asked. 
"  161 


The    Hand-Made    Gentleman 

" Deviltry,  which  is  a  caution,"  said  he. 

"Married  life?" 

"The  Colonel,"  said  Sam. 

"Why  don't  you  leave  him?" 

"Can't,"  he  answered. 

"Why  not?" 

"It's  my  duty  to  stan'  it,  an'  I'll  have  to. 
Don't  have  much  to  do  but  sleep  with  the 
Colonel,  an'  that's  a  man's  work.  It  takes  an 
uncommon  kind  of  a  man,  too.  You  have  to 
praise  his  strength  an'  look  at  his  wounds  an' 
hear  him  sing  an'  be  shoved  around  the  bed 
room  an'  get  your  head  thumped  on  the  wall 
an'  run  for  your  life  when  he  chases  ye.  He 
wants  to  rassle  an'  pull  fingers  about  every 
night.  Sometimes  he  comes  home  drunk  an' 
sets  an'  sings  like  a  bird  at  two  o'clock  in  the 
morning.  I  have  to  get  up  an'  pull  his  boots  off 
an'  let  him  shove  me  around.  It  ain't  an  easy 
job,  but  it's  better  than  some,  an'  we  can't  leave 
Jo  alone  with  him.  I've  got  to  put  up  with  it. 
One  night  he  drove  me  all  over  the  place  with 
a  kind  of  a  spear.  I  didn't  know  but  he  was 
goin'  to  stick  me  with  it.  By-an'-by  I  see  that 
he  wasn't  vicious. 

"One  evenin'  a  young  feller  come  there  when 
the  Colonel  was  away,  an'  behaved  himself  im 
proper.  Jo  told  Fannie,  an'  I  went  an'  kicked 

162 


Cricket  Proceeds  with  Heavier  Baggage 

him  out  o'  the  house.  The  Colonel  was  wild 
when  he  heard  of  it.  He  wouldn't  allow  a  boy 
on  the  place  after  that.  The  first  one  that  come 
he  grabbed  a  sword  off  the  wall  an'  made  for 
him.  The  boy  run  like  a  scairt  deer,  an'  the 
Colonel  chased  him  acrost  the  door-yard  an' 
half-way  to  the  bridge. 

' '  One  day  the  Colonel  found  a  letter  from  you 
to  Jo.  He  see  that  you  was  in  love  with  her,  an' 
flew  mad  an'  forbid  her  to  write  to  you,  an'  I 
come  to  tell  ye.  He  won't  let  her  go  on  the 
street  alone,  which  is  agoin'  too  fur — altogether. 
Jo  is  a  lady — don't  you  forget  it.  There's  only 
one  man  that  comes  to  the  house,  an'  he's  a 
friend  o'  the  Colonel.  I  guess  he's  a  gentleman." 

Jo's  silence  had  worried  me,  and  now  this  atti 
tude  of  her  father  filled  me  with  alarm. 

"Do  you — do  you  think  she  cares  for  me?" 
I  asked. 

"You  bet  I  do,"  he  answered,  promptly. 
"There's  every  sign  of  it.  She  promised  him 
that  she  wouldn't  write  to  you — she  had  to  do 
it,  I  guess,  an'  she  wanted  me  to  come  an'  bring 
you  this." 

He  paused  and  gave  me  a  small  package. 

"The  Colonel  has  had  a  fortune  come  to  him," 
my  friend  went  on.  "He's  goin'  to  move  to  the 
old  homestead  in  Merrifield,  an'  it  ain't  over 

163 


The   Hand-Made   Gentleman 

twenty  mile  from  here.  They'll  move  in  the 
spring — soon  as  the  snow's  off — an'  maybe 
things  '11  change  by  then,  so  you  can  come  an' 
see  us." 

"You  write  me  when  to  come,  and  I'll  be 
there  if  it's  a  possible  thing,"  was  my  an 
swer. 

Sam  questioned  me  as  to  my  work  and  pay, 
and  I  gave  him  all  the  particulars. 

"You'll  have  to  get  into  bigger  business,"  he 
suggested.  "Jo's  a  lady.  I  ain't  goin'  to  tell 
'em  that  you're  smoothin'  rocks.  It  don't  fit 
ye — someway. ' ' 

"It's  respectable,"  I  said,  "and  I've  been 
studying  every  day." 

I  didn't  have  the  courage  to  speak  of  my 
discharge,  and  I  hoped,  too,  that  Mr.  Crocket 
would  soon  take  me  back. 

"You've  got  to  be  a  big  gun  if  you're  goin' 
to  fit  her,  there  ain't  any  two  ways  about  that. 
You'd  better  go  to  school,  an',  if  you  need  it, 
I'll  lend  you  a  little  money." 

I  thanked  the  big-hearted  fellow,  and  said  that 
I  would  consult  my  mother  about  it. 

"You  set  down  an'  write  her  a  letter,"  said 
he,  "an'  I'll  see  that  she  gets  it." 

"But  the  Colonel—"  I  began. 

"He  ain't  forbid  you  to  write,  has  he?"  Sam 
164 


Cricket  Proceeds  with  Heavier  Baggage 

went  on.  "You  write  her  a  good,  long,  high- 
toned  letter,  such  as  a  lady  ought  to  get.  You 
know  how  to  do  it.  Don't  speak  o'  the  rocks. 
I've  told  'em  that  you  was  a  gentleman,  an'  very 
partic'lar  fine  in  every  way,  shape,  an'  manner, 
an'  I  guess  she  b'lieves  it.  She  can  marry  the 
best  chap  in  the  land  if  she  wants  to." 

I  took  his  hard  hand  in  mine.  "Sam,  you're 
a  friend  worth  having,"  I  said. 

"You  done  me  a  favor  once,"  he  went  on, 
"an'  I  ain't  forgot  it,  an'  never  will,  an'  I'm 
goin'  to  help  you  in  any  way  that  I  can.  Do  you 
remember  when  I  was  married?  She  just  took 
hold  o'  my  bit  an'  give  me  a  slap  on  the  side, 
an'  walked  me  up  to  the  neck-yoke  where  I  be 
longed,  an',  old  boy,  I'd  go  through  fire  an' 
water  for  her." 

"I  shall  not  write  to  Jo  at  present,"  I  said. 
"It  wouldn't  be  fair  to  the  Colonel.  We  must 
win  him  over." 

We  climbed  the  hanging  stair,  and  I  con 
ducted  Sam  to  the  spare  room. 

"Thank  God,"  Sam  exclaimed,  "I  ain't  got 
to  hear  about  battles  or  the  last  rose  o'  summer, 
an'  prob'ly  I  won't  have  to  jump  out  an'  rassle 
in  the  dead  o'  the  night!" 

I  took  the  little  package  Sam  had  given  me  to 
my  room,  and  when  it  was  undone  there  lay  the 

165 


The   Hand-Made    Gentleman 

horruck,  wrapped  in  a  sheet  of  paper  which  con 
tained  these  words: 

I  have  read  the  delightful  message  of  the  horruck. 
I  send  it  back,  and  it  will  do  for  a  letter. 

I  sat  for  hours  trying  to  solve  the  riddle,  and 
fell  asleep  in  my  chair  by -and -by.  When  I 
awoke  the  horruck  was  gone.  It  had  dropped 
from  my  hand,  no  doubt,  but,  although  I  looked 
high  and  low,  I  was  not  able  to  find  it.  Had 
Lizzie  McCormick  returned  in  my  sleep  and 
taken  it  away?  The  thing  had  left  me  as  mys 
teriously  as  it  came. 

I  went  to  bed  and  lay  awake,  hearing  the  roar 
of  the  falling  water,  and  the  thought  came  to 
me  that  my  own  life  was  like  a  river  now,  creep 
ing  over  the  flats.  Maybe  it  would  gather  power 
and  go  on  with  a  rush  by-and-by. 


STAGE  IV 


IN    WHICH    CRICKET    COMES    TO     A    TURN    IN    THE 
ROAD 

Y  sister  was  now  in  the  Heartsdale 
Academy,  and  my  mother  and  I 
had  a  wholesome  pride  in  her.  It 
was  partly  for  her  sake,  I  must  con 
fess  to  you,  that  I  had  been  in  a 
marble- shop  when  my  desire  would  have  sent 
me  to  school.  One  of  us  had  to  work,  and  there 
were  many  reasons  for  my  sacrifice,  and  no 
credit  due  me.  In  a  dozen  houses  I  knew  one 
might  have  seen  better  deeds:  mothers  working 
nights,  sons  and  daughters  hired  for  long  hours 
and  hard  labor,  and  with  no  clothes  fit  for  a 
holiday,  so  that  some  one  of  the  children  could 
go  to  college  or  the  normal  school. 

My  sister  had  many  friends — boys  and  girls 
of  her  own  age — who  came  to  visit  her.  She  was 
a  comely  girl,  and  sprightly  and  light  of  heart 
as  a  bird  in  the  springtime. 

At  home  I  had  either  a  book  or  a  biscuit  in 
167 


The   Hand-Made   Gentleman 

my  hand  always — so  my  mother  said  of  me. 
The  supper  dishes  out  of  the  way,  our  table  was 
drawn  to  the  fireside  and  our  big  lamp  glowed 
upon  us  until  past  ten  o'clock.  What  a  magic 
in  its  light  and  the  silent  hours !  Far  tribes  and 
peoples,  the  sayings  of  wise  men,  immortal  tales 
and  poems,  the  wonders  of  art  and  invention, 
were  gathered  into  the  lamplight.  Above  all, 
I  enjoyed  the  poets,  even  the  best  of  them,  and 
committed  pages  of  classic  verse,  and  had  burn 
ing  thoughts  of  great  accomplishment. 

We  went  one  night  to  the  Thanksgiving  ball 
at  Jones' — I  and  my  sister  and  some  of  her  school 
mates — in  a  big  sleigh.  It  was,  I  may  say,  his 
toric,  being  the  last  of  its  kind  in  the  neighbor 
hood.  We  were  not  to  see  again  the  careless, 
old-time  frolic.  The  bass  horn,  also,  was  thence 
forth  banished  from  like  scenes  forever.  The 
big  fire  came,  and  the  telegraph  followed  in  the 
early  spring,  and  the  railroad  in  the  summer;  and 
new  brick  buildings,  including  that  of  the  Hearts- 
dale  Academy,  and  many  students  and  working- 
men.  A  new  editor  appeared  who  began  to  poke 
fun  at  the  old  fashions.  Then  came  the  dress- 
suit,  and  novel  forms  of  entertainment,  and  a 
big  fire-engine.  All  these  things  had  their  effect 
upon  us. 

Mr.  Crocket  appeared  at  this  last  of  the  old- 
168 


Cricket  Comes  to  a  Turn  in  the  Road 

time  dances.  He  sat  with  the  fiddler,  and  came 
in,  now  and  then,  with  a  long  streak  or  a  sudden 
splash  of  bass. 

Between  dances  we  heard  the  bells  ringing 
and  hurried  out-of-doors.  A  light  rose  high  in 
the  heavens  above  Heartsdale.  The  village  was 
afire,  and  we  made  a  rush  for  coats  and  caps, 
and  our  horses  were  soon  speeding  along  the 
road. 

The  Rogers  block  was  burning,  and  what  a 
scene  it  was!  A  squad  worked  on  a  force-pump 
at  the  town  well.  Men  rushed  aimlessly  about 
shouting  orders  mingled  with  profanity.  Others 
swore  back  at  them  with  equal  emphasis.  Every 
one  had  a  plan  of  his  own.  A  few  were  arguing 
loudly  face  to  face.  Mr.  Boggs  stood  looking  on 
with  an  "I-told-you-so"  expression. 

Some  were  bravely  at  work  in  the  heat  pass 
ing  water-buckets.  One  was  on  a  roof  near  the 
fire  playing  the  hose.  They  said  he  was  H.  M. 
Pearl.  I  saw  the  ladder  he  had  climbed,  and 
the  thought  came  to  me  that  here  was  my 
chance  at  last,  and  I  made  my  way  up  it  through 
heat  and  smoke  to  the  side  of  my  friend.  As  I 
fought  the  falling  cinders  I  wondered  if  Jo  would 
ever  hear  of  it. 

"The  fire  has  got  more  power  than  we  have!" 
Pearl  shouted  to  me. 

169 


The   Hand-Made   Gentleman 

He  worked  for  a  few  minutes  only  when  the 
water  gave  out.  The  fire  had  been  forcing  us 
back,  and  a  blast  now  and  then  scorched  our 
faces. 

"We'll  have  to  adjourn,"  said  Pearl;  and  we 
slid  down  the  smoking  ladder  with  blistered 
hands  and  faces,  and  our  coats  afire. 

Heartsdale  was  more  than  half  destroyed  that 
night,  and  the  marble- shop  was  in  ruins.  Pearl 
had  seen  the  truth — the  village  had  not  power 
enough  for  its  foe.  Every  day  or  two  some  town 
or  city  was  burning  up  for  that  reason. 

"The  country  is  like  a  boy  that  has  outgrown 
his  strength,"  Pearl  said  to  me.  "It  needs 
more  power;  that  stream  o'  water  didn't  have 
squirt  enough  to  drown  a  bee." 

"And  better  management,"  I  suggested. 

"Power  and  management  go  hand  in  hand," 
said  he.  "When  power  comes  it  will  bring 
brains  along  with  it." 

I  wrote  an  account  of  my  adventure  on  the 
roof  for  the  weekly  Courier.  It  was  published 
over  my  full  name,  and  not  since  have  I  so 
pleased  myself.  Did  not  the  editor  speak  of 
me  as  "a  polished  writer"  and  "a  brave  lad"? 
I  read  it  over  again  and  again,  and  sent  a  marked 
copy  to  my  friends  in  Summerville. 

The  Courier  of  that  week  was  full  of  history. 
170 


Cricket  Comes  to  a  Turn  in  the  Road 

There  were  lines  in  it  by  some  unknown  writer 
which  put  an  end  to  the  despotic  sway  of  the 
bass  horn.  These  lines  were,  in  a  way,  the 
Magna  Charta  of  Heartsdale,  which  thereafter 
might  have  been  described  as  a  limited  monarchy. 
Let  me  read  a  moment: 


To  Jones'  tavern,  near  the  ancient  wood, 

Come  young  and  old  from  many  a  neighborhood. 

Here  comes  B.  Crocket  with  his  old  bass  horn, 

Its  tone  less  fit  for  melody  than  scorn. 

They  say  that  thro'  its  tubes  from  first  to  last 

A  century's  caravan  of  song  has  passed. 

The  boys  and  girls,  their  mirthful  sports  begun, 

With  noisy  kisses  punctuate  the  fun. 

O  careless  youths  and  red-lipped  little  misses! 

O  blush  that  marks  the  sweet  disgrace  of  kisses! 

The  fiddler  comes,  his  heart  a  merry  store, 
And  shouts  of  welcome  greet  him  at  the  door. 
Tho'  fashioned  rough  and  rude  the  jest  he  flings, 
What  power  has  he  to  wake  the  tuneful  strings! 
The  old  folks  smile  and  tell  how,  long  ago, 
Their  feet  obeyed  the  swaying  of  his  bow, 
And  how  the  God-sent  magic  of  his  art 
To  thoughts  of  love  inclined  the  youthful  heart, 
And  shook  the  bonds  of  care  from  aged  men 
Who,  'neath  the  spell,  returned  to  youth  again. 

He  raps  the  fiddle-back  as  t'were  a  drum, 
The  raw  recruits  of  Cupid's  army  come, 
And  heeding  not  the  praise  his  playing  wins, 
The  ebullition  of  his  soul  begins. 
171 


The  Hand-Made   Gentleman 

The  zeal  of  Crocket,  turned  to  scornful  sound, 
Pursues  the  measure  like  a  baying  hoxind; 
The  sprightly  phrases  fall  like  gusts  of  rain, 
The  dancers  sway  like  wind-swept  fields  of  grain; 
And,  midst  the  storm,  to  maddening  fury  stirred, 
The  thunder  of  the  old  bass  horn  is  heard. 


STAGE  V 

IN  WHICH  CRICKET  MOUNTS  ONE  OF  GOD'S  HORSES 

HOSE  days  they  were  stringing 
wires  through  the  North,  and  even 
there  human  thought  had  begun 
to  move  faster.  Now  one  could 
fling  his  words  far  over  the  distant 
hills  in  a  moment.  Men  gathered  in  groups  and 
talked  of  the  wonder  of  it,  and  looked  with  awe 
upon  the  operator;  for  had  not  tidings  of  far 
capitals  come  to  him  out  of  the  sky,  and  news 
of  death  which  had  made  the  strong  tremble  ? 

Pearl  had  been  helping  to  install  a  new  line. 
For  a  time — a  long  time,  as  it  seemed  to  me — 
the  shop  door  was  locked. 

The  night  of  his  return  I  found  him  over 
hauling  instruments  at  his  bench,  but  as  I  came 
in  he  dropped  his  work  and  his  face  brightened. 
"How  goes  it?"  I  asked. 
"Swift,"   he  answered.     "I've  been  helping 
'em  lay  a  track  for  lightning.     A  stream  o'  power 
is  flashing  over  the  bills  to  Merrifield  this  minute. 


The  Hand-Made  Gentleman 

Do  you  see  that  wire  that  goes  by  the  window 
there  ?  Well,  it's  a  nerve  out  o'  the  brain  o'  the 
universe,  an'  we're  connected.  It  makes  us  a 
part  o'  the  great  body  o'  the  world,  as  ye  might 
say. 

"There's  goin'  to  be  a  war  between  life  an' 
death  in  this  country.  In  Heartsdale  you  an'  I 
will  lead  the  new  army.  Boggs  an'  Crocket  will 
command  the  old." 

That  little  shop  was  for  me  ' '  the  House  of  the 
Interpreter,"  and  there  I  began  to  get  the  drift 
of  things. 

He  gave  me  a  book  which  contained  the  Morse 
alphabet,  and  taught  me  to  make  the  letters 
on  a  telegraph  key,  and  showed  me  how  it 
checked  the  current  and  so  produced  the  dots  and 
dashes. 

"I'll  run  a  wire  to  your  house,"  he  promised, 
"an'  we'll  string  our  thoughts  on  it  an'  learn 
some  useful  knowledge.  I  can  get  a  place  for 
you  as  soon  as  you  can  read  an'  send  the  current, 
I  never  liked  the  headstone  business.  It's  at 
the  wrong  end  o'  the  line.  If  it  was  the  cradle 
business,  I'd  like  it  better.  Life  is  the  thing  for 
you  an'  me,  not  death. 

"There's  four  churches  and  two  cemeteries  in 
this  little  town.  Life  here  has  been  a  kind  o' 
preparation  for  the  grave,  an'  not  much  else. 


Cricket  Mounts  One  of  God's  Horses 

Death  has  done  most  o'  the  business.  It's  time 
we  had  a  change." 

I  was  to  help  the  swift,  mysterious  current  of 
power  to  quicken  the  minds  of  the  people. 

Pearl  lent  me  a  telegraph  key,  and  I  stayed 
at  home  with  my  mother  and  sister  for  a  few 
weeks,  learning  how  to  sound  the  letters  on  it. 
I  went  often  to  Pearl's  shop  of  an  evening  and 
talked  with  him  by  telegraphy,  and  he  was 
pleased  with  my  progress,  and  within  a  month 
said  I  was  good  enough  for  any  place  on  the  line. 
We  felt  his  kindness  deeply  there  in  the  Mill 
House,  and  my  mother  wrote  her  thanks  to  him, 
and  begged  him  to  come  and  sup  and  spend  the 
evening  with  us  any  day. 

"My  friend  and  fellow-citizen,"  said  Mr.  Pearl, 
when  I  saw  him  again,  "nothing  would  please 
me  better  than  to  sit  by  your  fireside  and  enjoy 
all  that  exalts  and  embellishes  civilized  life.  But, 
firstly,  I  am  not  decent  enough;  and,  secondly, 
my  clothing  is  fit  only  for  the  'sacred  precinks' 
o'  my  own  shop,  as  Mr.  Boggs  would  say;  and, 
thirdly,  I  have  a  lot  to  do  an'  bnly  sixteen  hours 
a  day  to  do  it  in." 

So  he  never  came  to  the  Mill  House,  and,  al 
though  my  mother  had  called  twice  at  his  shop 
to  tell  her  gratitude,  she  had  not  been  able  to 
find  him. 


The   Hand-Made   Gentleman 

One  day  he  gave  me  glad  news  in  this  manner: 

"How  would  ye  like  a  job?" 

"What  kind  of  a  job?"  I  inquired. 

"To  jerk  lightnin'." 

That  was  his  way  of  describing  the  work  of  an 
operator. 

"I'd  like  it  very  much." 

"You're  to  take  the  office  in  Heartsdale  at 
forty  dollars  a  month  on  trial,"  he  said. 

It  staggered  me — the  prospect  of  such  opulence 
— and  that  very  day  I  began  my  work.  I  have 
been  lucky  and  prospered  rather  handsomely 
since  then,  but  I  have  never  received  a  sum  so 
enduring  and  massive  as  that  which  came  to 
me  at  the  end  of  every  month.  I  always  hurried 
home  with  the  roll  of  bills  and  flung  it  into  my 
mother's  lap  proudly.  Oh,  what  a  lavish  hand 
was  mine  those  days!  About  the  best  happi 
ness  of  all  my  life  was  in  the  few  moments  of 
sublime  generosity  at  the  month's  end  when  I 
renounced  the  money  and  saw  the  look  in  my 
mother's  face  and  hurried  away  to  my  chores. 
And  when  I  saw  the  splendor  of  my  sister's  hats 
and  gowns,  and  the  neatness  of  her  shoes,  and 
heard  people  speak  of  her  beauty,  I  was  about 
as  happy  as  one  may  be. 

I  had  "jerked  lightning"  some  eight  months 
and  had  become  a  figure  in  the  life  of  Heartsdale, 

176 


Cricket  Mounts  One  of  God's  Horses 

for  I  guided  the  flying  horse  of  God  that  sped  in 
and  out  of  the  village  on  its  slender  highway, 
and  I  was  looked  upon  as  a  kind  of  sorcerer. 
Moreover,  I — a  boy  of  seventeen — received  the 
princely  income  of  forty  dollars  a  month! 

In  all  this  time,  although  I  had  written  to  Jo 
about  the  loss  of  the  horruck  and  my  ignorance 
of  its  secret  and  my  growing  curiosity,  no  word 
of  her  had  come  to  me  save  a  letter  from  Sam, 
which  told  me  that  Jo  was  well  and  hoped  those 
few  lines  would  find  me  the  same. 

One  afternoon  my  call  came  clicking  into  the 
sounder  with  the  letters  M.  F.  behind  it.  I 
knew  that  M.  F.  stood  for  the  office  at  Merrifield. 

The  operator  said  that  he  would  have  an  im 
portant  message  for  me  at  eight  that  evening, 
and  asked  if  I  could  be  at  the  key  to  take  it. 
The  request  was  not  unusual,  for  mine  was  the 
repeating  office  at  the  junction  of  two  lines.  I 
promised  to  be  on  hand,  and  went  to  the  office 
at  eight  o'clock. 

Soon  I  got  the  call  and  answered  it,  and  these 
words  flashed  into  the  sounder: 

"Is  this  Mr.  Heron?" 

And  I  answered,  "Yes;  who  are  you?" 

"I  am  the  operator  at  Merrifield,  and  I  have 
a  message  for  you." 

"Well,  go  ahead,"  I  clicked,  impatiently.  I 
177 


The    Hand-Made  Gentleman 

could  see  it  was  a  new  operator  with  a  rather 
timid  hand.     So  the  message  ran: 

To  Jacob  Ezra  Heron: 

Do  you  still  care  to  hear  from  an  old  friend? 

Jo. 

I  answered  that  very  moment: 

To  Jo: 

I  am  dying  for  news  of  you.     Answer. 

CRICKET. 

Then  I  asked,  "Can  you  deliver  the  message 
to-night?" 

"Yes;  it  has  been  delivered.  I  am  Jo," 
the  sounder  clicked.  "This  is  confidential.  See 
if  any  one  is  on  the  line." 

I  rang  off  the  calls  of  the  hill  circuit  and  got 
no  answer,  and  knew  we  had  the  wire  to  our 
selves. 

"Are  you  an  operator?"  I  asked. 

"Yes.  I  had  to  have  a  talk  with  you,  and  so 
here  I  am,  at  last." 

".I'd  rather  talk  face  to  face  than  with  light 
ning,"  I  said.  "Why  can't  I  go  and  see  you?" 

"Not  now.  Wait  a  little  while,"  she  an 
swered. 

"Why?" 

' '  Well,  it's  a  long  story.  There's  a  young  man 
who  came  here  from  New  York  last  summer. 

178 


Cricket  Mounts  One   of  God's  Horses 

He's  a  friend  of  father's,  and  knows  you.  Since 
they  met,  my  father  has  asked  me  not  to  see  or 
write  to  you  until  he  could  get  some  information." 

"Who  is  the  young  man?" 

"Mr.  Bonaparte  Squares." 

"Oh,  it's  Bony  Squares!"  I  clicked.  "I 
know  him  very  well." 

"And  I  know  him  better  than  I  ever  wished 
to,"  she  went  on.  "He  has  tried  to  make  love 
to  me." 

"Tried  to  make  love  to  you!"  I  exclaimed, 
with  indignation.  "I  cannot  believe  it.  Your 
father  had  better  get  some  information  about 
him.  Tell  him  to  write  to  the  postmaster  of 
Heartsdale.  Any  one  here  or  at  Mill  Pond  could 
tell  him  all  about  Bony.  He  couldn't  marry 
you!" 

There  was  a  pause  of  two  or  three  seconds, 
and  then  the  sounder  answered,  timidly: 

"Why?" 

"Because  I  wouldn't  let  him,"  I  said. 

"There's  no  danger,"  she  answered. 

"Except  for  Bony,"  I  flashed  back. 

I  held  my  ear  close  to  the  sounder  for  fear  of 
missing  a  word. 

"I  am  too  young  to  think  of  marriage." 

"Until  you  have  consulted  me,"  I  said.  "I 
know  things  that  you  must  know  before  then." 

179 


The  Hand-Made   Gentleman 

' '  I  will  ask  father  to  write  to  your  postmaster 
about  his  friend,"  she  continued,  as  if  she 
thought  I  had  things  to  tell  about  Bony. 

"Don't  let  them  turn  you  against  me,"  I 
urged. 

"Don't  fear.  If  I  had  another  horruck  I 
would  send  it  to  you." 

"I  was  never  able  to  read  the  horruck's  rid 
dle,"  I  said. 

"Oh,  you  didn't  know!"  she  exclaimed.  "I 
thought  you  meant  it  for  me." 

"I  cannot  say  until  I  know  the  message." 

"But  I  wouldn't  dare  tell  you.  It's  one  thing 
to  say  it  yourself,  and  another  to  speak  with  the 
horruck.  You  must  find  and  study  it.  Good 
night  !  My  dear  old  father  is  dozing  here  beside 
me,  and  doesn't  dream  that  I  am  talking  to 
you.  I  feel  guilty,  but  I  was  afraid  that  you 
would  come  here." 

"Don't  say  good-night.  I'm  not  half  through 
talking." 

"But  we  mustn't  say  everything  at  once,  and 
he  is  tired.  We'll  have  another  talk.  Good 
night!" 

I  closed  the  office,  and  started  for  my  home.  As 
I  walked  alone  in  the  darkness  under  the  singing 
wires,  I  got  my  first  broad  view  of  their  mission. 
My  sweetheart  and  I  were  miles  apart,  but  that 

1 80 


Cricket  Mounts  One  of  God's  Horses 

rushing  power  on  the  string  of  metal  had  almost 
removed  the  distance  and  helped  us  to  under 
stand  each  other.  Would  it  not,  by -and -by, 
remove  seas  and  continents  and  make  all  the 
races  of  one  mind,  and  keep  them  in  peace  and 
good- will  ? 


STAGE  VI 

MY    LAST   WEEK   ON   THE    FLYING    HORSE 


EARL  had  invented  a  water-tur 
bine,  a  dynamo,  and  a  method  of 
producing  light  by  electricity,  and 
many  valuable  devices,  but  had 
been  able  to  patent  only  two  of 
them.  It  is  curious  how,  when  there  is  univer 
sal  need  of  a  thing,  men  agree,  without  ever  a 
word  between  them,  that  it  shall  be  done,  and 
nothing  is  so  wonderful  as  the  likeness  of  their 
energy  and  inspiration,  as  the  rhythm  of  their 
hammer-strokes,  the  world  over. 

Pearl,  struggling  in  the  privacy  of  his  little 
shop,  was  marching,  step  by  step,  with  the 
great  inventors,  and  never  even  suspected  it 
until  his  best  devices  were  a  matter  of  record 
in  the  Patent  Office  to  the  credit  of  other 
men. 

One  evening  I  found  him  asleep  on  his  bench. 
A  hand  hung  over  the  edge,  and  a  letter  had 
dropped  from  it.  His  scarred  face  had  a  weary 

182 


My  Last  Week  on  the  Flying  Horse 

look.  I  turned  to  leave  without  disturbing 
him  when  he  awoke  and  greeted  me. 

"Jake,  I'm  tired,"  said  he,  as  he  rose,  yawn 
ing,  and  began  to  fill  his  pipe.  "I  ain't  up  to 
the  mark." 

"What's  the  matter?" 

"Had  a  fall,"  he  said,  passing  the  letter. 
"Read  that." 

I  read  the  news  which  had  disappointed  him, 
and  he  said: 

"Yesterday  I  was  a  great  man,  an'  wouldn't 
have  sold  out  for  a  million  dollars.  I've  rolled 
off  the  lap  of  luxury  an'  hit  the  floor  with  a 
bump.  Old  Aunt  Luxury  is  a  long  lady,  an' 
no  mistake.  It's  forty  feet  to  her  knees,  an'  a 
good  deal  of  a  tumble.  You  see  before  you  a 
melancholy  ruin." 

"Here,"  I  said,  "let  me  lend  you  some  money. 
I'll  trust  you  with  all  I've  got." 

I  had  just  received  my  pay,  and  showed  it  to 
him. 

"I'm  so  poor  that  I  wouldn't  trust  myself," 
he  answered;  "an'  that  bein'  so,  I  wouldn't  ask 
you  to  trust  me." 

He  left  me  to  get  some  wood  for  the  fire,  and 
I  saw  a  Bible  lying  on  his  desk  and  put  a  twenty- 
dollar  bill  between  its  leaves,  at  the  eleventh 
chapter  of  Job,  and  closed  it  again.  I  talked 

183 


The   Hand-Made   Gentleman 

with  him  for  an  hour  or  so,  and  asked,  when  I 
was  leaving,  if  he  had  read  the  Book  of  Job. 

"Not  sence  I  was  a  boy,"  he  answered. 

"Read  the  eleventh  chapter  before  you  go  to 
bed,"  I  suggested,  and  went  away. 

Next  day  he  came  to  my  office. 

"We're  off  this  evenin',  with  all  our  tools  and 
implements,"  said  he.  "If  it  hadn't  been  for 
you  an'  Job  we  couldn't  have  got  away.  You're 
a  strong  pair.  I  read  in  that  chapter,  'Thou 
shalt  forget  thy  misery  and  remember  it  as 
waters  that  pass  away.'  It  was  the  very  sermon 
I  needed.  My  misery  is  gone.  We  have  given 
you  a  vote  o'  thanks.  It  was  hearty  an' 
unanimous." 

He  was  to  take  the  freight  and  accommodation 
which  left  Heartsdale  about  eleven  o'clock.  He 
did  not  tell  me  his  destination,  but  said  that  I 
should  hear  from  him  by-and-by.  I  went  to  the 
depot  with  Pearl  and  Barker,  and  saw  them  off. 

As  I  passed  the  house  of  the  postmaster  on 
my  way  home,  a  man  in  a  tall  beaver  hat  came 
out  of  its  front  door  and  walked  hurriedly  to  a 
carriage  and  drove  away.  It  was  a  cool  night 
in  November,  and  the  collar  of  his  overcoat  was 
up  around  his  ears.  Something  familiar  in  the 
step  of  the  man  caused  me  to  turn  and  look  at 
him  and  remember  the  incident. 
184 


My  Last  Week  on  the  Flying  Horse 

Three  evenings  later  M.  F.  was  with  me  on  the 
wire  of  the  hill  circuit,  deserted  by  all  save  us, 
and  I  was  taking  my  part  in  this  dialogue : 

"I  have  important  news,"  said  Jo. 

"What?" 

"Father  has  had  a  letter  from  the  postmaster 
of  Heartsdale  about  Mr.  Squares.  The  letter 
says  that  he  is  a  man  of  good  character  and 
excellent  family." 

I  saw,  then,  that  mine  was  a  rival  who  had 
the  will  and  cunning  to  win  his  point.  It  was 
strange  that  I  had  failed  to  recognize  that  swag 
ger  of  his  when  I  had  seen  him  walk  to  his  car 
riage  the  night  I  passed  the  postmaster's  house. 

"It's  enough  to  make  lightning  laugh,"  I  said. 
"Your  father  told  him  what  he  was  going  to 
do,  and  Bony  drove  to  Heartsdale  on  Tuesday 
night  and  made  friends  with  the  postmaster. 
He  came  late  in  the  evening  and  did  not  intend 
to  be  observed,  but  I  saw  him." 

"It  is  too  bad,"  she  clicked. 

"I  can  bear  it  as  long  as  you  think  well  of 
me,"  I  said.  "Suppose  I  go  to  Merrifield  and 
have  a  talk  with  your  father?" 

"Not  now;  there's  time  enough." 

"No,  there  isn't!  You  seem  to  forget  that 
I'm  getting  along  in  life." 

"Poor  boy! — you're  almost  eighteen!" 
185 


The    Hand-Made    Gentleman 

"I'm  older  than  most  gentlemen  of  twenty." 

"Why  can't  you  wait?" 

"Because  I  have  something  to  tell  you,"  I 
wrote. 

"To  tell  me?" 

"Yes,  and  it's  too  sacred  for  the  wires.  I 
must  look  into  your  eyes  and  hear  your  answer." 

"I  wonder  what  it  can  be,"  the  receiver  click 
ed.  "I  shall  let  you  come  as  soon  as  I  can.  I 
want  to  see  you  very,  very  much.  Good-night. 
Father  has  come  for  me.  We  are  going  to 
Washington  in  a  day  or  two." 

At  that  moment  I  caught  the  first  words  of  a 
thrilling  message  on  the  main  line.  It  said: 
"Fort  Sumter  has  been  fired  upon.  It  is  the 
beginning  of  war." 

I  took  the  news  to  my  mother,  and  declared 
my  wish  to  go  and  fight  for  the  North. 

"No,"  she  said;  "your  father  gave  his  life  in 
the  war  with  Mexico.  Now  my  health  is  gone 
and  you  are  all  that's  left  to  us.  You  are  en 
listed  in  a  war  with  Poverty,  and  I  can't  spare 
you." 

She  put  her  arms  around  me  and  cried,  and 
I  promised  to  stay  at  home,  if  possible,  and  it 
seemed  a  hard  fate  in  spite  of  my  happiness. 

I  wrote  a  long  letter  to  the  Colonel  and  con 
fessed  my  love  for  his  daughter,  and  begged  him 

186 


My  Last  Week  on  the  Flying  Horse 

not  to  think  ill  of  me  without  full  information 
as  to  my  character,  and  referred  him  to  a 
number  of  good  people. 

This  brief  and  suggestive  letter  came  promptly : 

DEAR  SIR, — As  to  your  character,  I  have  had  all  the 
information  I  desire.  I  should  think  better  of  it  if  you 
were  to  cease  communicating  with  my  daughter  against 
my  wishes. 

It  hurt  like  the  blow  of  a  hammer,  and  I 
could  not  think  of  the  Colonel  with  any  degree 
of  charity  for  a  week  or  more,  but,  after  all,  it 
helped  to  make  a  man  of  me.  In  the  heat  of 
such  days  a  man  shapes  his  character — as  the 
smith  his  iron  that  is  hot  from  the  forge — and 
tempers  it  in  cool  reflection.  Soon  I  got  a  letter 
from  Sam  that  told  of  the  departure  of  Jo  and 
the  Colonel  for  Washington. 


STAGE  VII 


IN   WHICH   MR.  HERON   ARRIVES    AT   THE   SHOP  OF 
THE   HAND-MADE   GENTLEMAN 

CTOBER  had  returned,  and  a  let 
ter  had  come  from  my  friend 
McCarthy,  asking  me  to  visit  him. 
My  sister  had  learned  telegraphy 
at  home,  and  could  take  and  send 
well  enough  to  do  my  work  at  the  office.  It  was 
arranged,  therefore,  that  she  and  my  mother 
should  close  the  Mill  House  and  come  to  town 
for  a  week  or  two,  so  that  she  could  take  my 
place. 

The  hand-made  gentleman  had  built  his  fac 
tory  in  the  thriving  town  of  Rushwater,  on  the 
Central  Railroad.  It  took  a  long  summer  day 
to  get  there,  for  the  engine  was  fed  with  wood, 
and  we  had  now  and  then  to  load  the  tender 
with  fuel,  corded  on  the  right  of  way,  or  drive 
cattle  from  the  track  or  water  the  locomotive 
or  mend  a  coupling,  and  had  to  wait  at  the 
junction  for  trains  in  equally  bad  luck. 

188 


Mr.  Heron  Arrives  at  the  Shop 

Early  in  the  evening  I  found  my  friend 
McCarthy  at  the  leading  hotel  in  Rushwater, 
where  he  boarded. 

"Pleased  to  see  you,"  he  said,  with  dignity, 
as  he  shook  my  hand.  "Have  you  been  to 
supper?" 

"Yes,"  I  answered. 

"Is  there  any  kind  of  refreshment  I  can  offer 
you?" 

"Nothing  except  your  company." 

He  took  me  to  the  desk  and  introduced  me  as 
his  friend,  "Jacob  Ezra  Heron,  Esq.,  a  gentle 
man  from  St.  Lawrence  County." 

"Give  Mr.  Heron  the  best  the  house  affords, 
and  put  it  on  my  bill,"  he  added.  I  protested, 
whereupon  he  touched  my  arm  and  said:  "You 
will  find,  sir,  that  nobody  will  take  your  money 
in  this  town.  If  you  will  walk  with  me,  I  will 
show  you  my  factory." 

I  asked  for  my  friend  Pearl,  and  McCarthy 
said  that  Pearl  and  Barker  were  in  New  York, 
and  were  coming  to  Rushwater  in  a  day  or  two. 
The  inventor  had  worked  awhile  in  the  shop, 
and  planned  a  lot  of  machines  which  had  has 
tened  the  process  of  manufacture.  In  June  he 
had  drawn  his  pay  and  left  suddenly  for  parts 
unknown. 

"I  think  that  he  went  to  the  war,"  said  Mr. 
189 


The    Hand-Made    Gentleman 

McCarthy;  "but  he  never  let  on.  Said  he'd 
turn  up  here  one  of  these  days,  and  last  week  I 
got  a  long  letter  from  the  old  man.  Said  he'd 
been  sick,  and  was  ready  to  come  back  to  the 
shop  if  I  wanted  him.  Of  course,  I  said  come  on. ' ' 

We  made  our  way  through  dark  streets  and 
stopped  in  front  of  a  building — large  for  that 
day  and  country — on  the  river  shore. 

"There  it  is,"  he  remarked,  as  we  gazed  for 
half  a  moment  at  the  dim  outlines  of  his  build 
ing.  "I  am  the  most  extensive  shipper  of  small 
freight  on  the  railroad." 

We  entered  the  building,  and  he  led  me  to  his 
office  and  lighted  a  lamp.  It  was  a  large  room, 
elegantly  furnished.  The  chairs  and  table  were 
made  of  mahogany  and  a  soft  carpet  covered 
the  floor.  A  large  portrait  of  Napoleon  Bona 
parte  hung  on  the  wall. 

Those  days  the  face  and  story  of  "The  Little 
Corporal"  were  a  power  in  the  land,  and  not  the 
most  wholesome  one,  I  have  thought. 

"This  is  grand,"  was  my  remark. 

"I  am  making  money,"  said  the  hand-made 
gentleman,  "and  I  propose  to  look  as  prosperous 
as  I  am.  Sal  is  now  the  smallest  part  of  my 
business.  I  spend  twenty  thousand  a  year  ad 
vertising.  My  harp  has  four  strings  and  one 
tune.  Here  it  is." 

190 


Mr.  Heron  Arrives  at  the  Shop 

The  hand-made  gentleman  began  to  read  from 
a  newspaper  as  follows: 

"SPEAKING  OF  SAL 

"Sal  is  willing;  Sal  can  make  the  house  shine;  Sal 
is  a  worker — never  cross  and  tired;  the  best  and 
cheapest  hired  girl  in  the  country.  Cleans  silver,  glass, 
metal,  and  woodwork.  Give  Sal  a  chance. 

"SAL'S  SISTERS 

"There  are  three  of  them:  Sally,  the  Brick,  who 
cleans  knives,  forks,  pots,  and  kettles;  Sal's  Sister,  a 
wonderful  laundry  soap;  also  Salome,  a  clover-scented 
soap  for  the  toilet.  You  will  find  them  in  all  groceries. " 

"I  began  little — put  it  in  a  paper  of  five 
thousand  circulation.  I  found  that  every  dollar 
that  I  invested  brought  me  four  dollars  and 
thirty-four  and  a  half  cents.  The  second  ad. 
brought  me  four  dollars  and  thirty-seven  cents; 
the  third  four  dollars  and  forty-one,  and  so  it 
grew.  I  tried  all  the  leading  papers,  and  got 
the  rate  of  profit  and  learned  the  exact  value  of 
repetition  for  each.  The  return  increased  as  my 
goods  travelled,  and  people  began  to  talk  about 
'em.  You  see,  I  make  something  that  the  people 
want,  and  my  first  problem  was  to  let  them 
know  it.  That  was  easy.  My  next  problem 
was  to  manufacture  within  a  certain  limit  of 
cost.  In  that  Pearl  has  helped.  My  next  prob- 

191 


The   Hand-Made    Gentleman 

lem  was  to  deliver  the  goods,  and  that  is  the 
greatest  problem  of  all.  The  railroads  are  slow 
and  unreliable.  They  have  no  more  system  than 
a  carrier-pigeon.  Your  freight  is  transferred  until 
the  boxes  are  worn  out;  it  is  side-tracked  and 
lost  and  forgotten.  You  see,  there  are  eleven 
railroads  between  here  and  Buffalo.  They  have 
been  consolidated,  but  not  harmonized.  They 
are  like  eleven  horses  in  the  hands  of  a  poor 
teamster;  they  don't  pull  together.  They  waste 
their  strength.  I  complained  to  Mr.  Dean  Rich 
mond. 

"He  said  to  me,  'We're  doing  our  best,  and 
if  you  want  a  better  service  you'll  have  to  show 
us  how  to  give  it.' 

"I  gave  him  a  few  ideas,  and  he  liked  'em, 
and  what  do  you  suppose  happened?" 

Mr.  McCarthy  paused,  but  I  could  only  shake 
my  head  and  await  his  revelation. 

"Well,  one  day  the  manager  called  and  said 
the  Chairman  of  the  Executive  Committee  would 
like  to  see  me, "  Mr.  McCarthy  went  on.  "I  pulled 
up  my  check- rein  a  little  and  went  to  Albany. 
It  surprised  him  to  see  how  young  I  was. 

"'Why,'  said  he,  'you're  nothing  but  a  boy!' 

"'I'm  twenty- three,'  I  said,  'but  they  count 
double.  I've  done  two  years'  work  in  every  one 
that  I've  lived.' 

192 


Mr.  Heron  Arrives  at  the  Shop 

"He  asked  me  to  dinner;  it  was  grand.  I 
didn't  dare  eat  much — just  sat  and  talked  and 
listened  and  saw  how  they  behaved  themselves 
at  his  table.  I  learnt  a  number  of  things." 

"What  were  they?" 

"To  keep  my  knife  away  from  my  face,  for 
one  thing,"  he  answered.  "Then  a  gentleman 
eats  very  slowly  while  he  indulges  in  conversa 
tion.  He's  got  to  be  able  to  talk  about  Brignoli 
and  Madame  Piccolomini — ain't  that  a  grand 
name? — and  Mrs.  Siddons  and  Lester  Wallack, 
with  a  word  once  in  a  while  about  the  Missouri 
Compromise.  When  he  gets  through  he  washes 
the  tips  of  his  fingers.  One  of  them  told  a  vulgar 
story,  and  it  seemed  to  me  that  we  needed  a 
bath  for  our  minds  as  well  as  for  our  fingers. 
The  chairman  liked  me,  I  guess,  for  he  offered 
me  some  of  his  stock  at  a  low  price,  and  said 
they  wanted  me  on  the  directory.  I  went  in, 
and  now  I'm  looking  into  the  whole  railroad 
problem." 

He  began  to  unroll  a  great  map  which  he  had 
been  making,  and  which  lay  on  a  broad  table. 
It  was  sixty  feet  long,  and  showed  a  section  of 
the  country  some  two  hundred  miles  wide  from 
Boston  to  Chicago. 

"I  won't  bother  you  with  details,"  he  "said, 
"but  I  have  a  great  plan.  It  will  narrow  this 

13  193 


The   Hand-Made  Gentleman 

space  between  New  York  and  Chicago.  It  will 
build  up  a  chain  of  great  cities.  It  will  make  a 
market  for  goods  and  quicken  their  delivery. 
It  will  furnish  a  model  for  the  development  of 
other  parts  of  the  republic." 

The  eyes  of  the  young  man  glowed  with  en 
thusiasm.  Then  he  shook  with  laughter. 

"That's  pretty  good  for  the  boy  with  a 
wooden  leg  that  you  met  on  the  road  to  Canaan, 
isn't  it?"  he  asked.  "You  see,  the  hand-made 
gentleman  is  getting  along.  He's  took  his  mind 
off  himself — partly — and  put  it  on  to  other 
things.  I  don't  need  so  much  looking  after  as  I 
did.  I  can  talk  pretty  well,  and  know  how  to 
conduct  myself  in  any  company.  Ye  see,  prac 
tice  makes  perfect,  and  I've  practised  decency 
for  a  long  time.  It's  like  breathing.  Of  course, 
I  might  be  better  inside,  but  outside  I'll  do  for 
the  time  being." 

"I'd  like  to  hear  more  of  your  plan,"  I  sug 
gested. 

"It's  this,  in  a  nutshell,"  he  said:  "I  want 
to  combine  all  the  railroads  between  Boston, 
New  York,  and  Chicago  in  one  system.  Now,  if 
you're  going  from  New  York  to  Chicago,  you 
change  at  Albany  and  stay  all  night ;  you  change 
again  at  Syracuse  and  stay  all  night,  and  again 
at  Buffalo,  and  so  on.  Of  course,  you  can  ride 

194 


Mr.  Heron  Arrives  at  the  Shop 

all  night,  but  it  wears  you  out.  I  want  a  better 
road-bed  and  heavier  rails  and  lighter  cars  and 
bigger  engines  and  more  power  to  handle  'em, 
and  a  continuous  trip.  Why  shouldn't  we  travel 
nights  with  comfort?" 

The  hand-made  gentleman  strode  up  and 
down  the  room  and  gestured  like  a  man  making 
a  speech. 

"Five  men  have  twenty  times  the  power  of 
one.  Did  you  ever  think  of  that?"  he  asked. 
"When  you  put  two  and  two  together  you  get 
about  sixteen,  but  they've  got  to  be  one  before 
they  can  be  sixteen.  That  suggests  the  value 
of  combination."  He  paused  before  me,  and 
added:  "Here's  the  trouble.  The  idea  is  bigger'n 
I  am.  There's  only  one  man  in  the  world  who 
can  carry  it  out." 

"Who  is  that?"  I  inquired. 

"Vanderbilt,"  said  he.  "There's  the  biggest 
man  in  the  country.  He's  made  twenty  million 
dollars  with  his  brain.  Think  of  that!  He's  the 
Napoleon  of  this  day." 

There  came  a  rap  at  the  door,  and  Mr.  McCarthy 
shouted,  "Come  in!"  and  a  young  man  entered 
with  a  large  blank-book  in  his  hand. 

"Mr.  Heron,  this  is  Mr.  Magillies,  a  graduate 
of  the  commercial  college  at  Poughkeepsie,  and 
a  grand  penman,"  said  the  hand-made  gentle- 


The    Hand-Made    Gentleman 

man.  "He  takes  down  my  letters  for  me,  and 
writes  'em  off  and  sees  that  they're  worded 
proper.  Would  you  like  to  hear  me  answer  my 
correspondence  ?" 

I  assured  him  of  my  interest,  and  thereupon 
the  hand-made  gentleman  dictated  many  letters 
with  a  look  and  tone  of  great  dignity.  Now  and 
then  he  addressed  some  delinquent  and  un 
scrupulous  debtor  with  great  emphasis,  and 
more  than  once  he  described  the  virtues  of  Sal 
and  Sal's  sisters  and  the  clover-scented  soap  loud 
ly  and  with  gestures  suited  to  the  word,  so  that 
he  reminded  me  of  the  picture  in  my  reading- 
book  of  a  Roman  senator  addressing  the  populace. 

The  young  man  left  us  late  in  the  evening 
with  his  record  of  their  work. 

Then  said  the  hand-made  gentleman:  "I 
must  have  somebody  for  that  position  who  is 
more  than  a  mere  writing -machine.  I  want 
some  gentleman  who  thinks  as  I  do  and  will 
stand  up  for  me  like  a  brother.  I  want  you!" 

It  took  me  by  surprise,  and  I  thanked  him 
and  expressed  doubt  of  my  fitness. 

"I  know  you,  and  you  know  me,"  he  said. 
"I  like  you,  Mr.  Heron,  and  believe  in  you; 
and  if  you  feel  the  same,  let's  pull  together.  I 
have  some  big  things  to  do,  and  you  can  help 
me;  and  I'll  double  the  pay  you're  getting." 

196 


Mr.  Heron  Arrives  at  the  Shop 

I  was  a  rapid  writer,  and  many  had  praised 
the  neatness  and  legibility  of  my  penmanship. 
Then,  too,  I  was  rather  fond  of  the  hand-made 
gentleman,  and  had  a  great  faith  in  him.  But 
how  about  my  mother  and  sister  and  Jo,  for 
both  Heartsdale  and  Merrifield  were  a  long  way 
from  Rushwater. 

"I'd  like  to  go  to  the  war,"  I  answered,  "if 
my  mother  will  consent." 

' '  The  ambition  is  meritorious , ' '  said  he .  "  There 
can  be  nothing  nobler  than  the  wish  to  serve 
your  country,  but  I  don't  think  it  needs  you. 
The  war  will  be  over  in  a  few  weeks.  Then 
there  are  your  mother  and  sister — don't  they 
need  you  more  than  the  country  does?" 

"I'm  afraid  they  do." 

"Then  you  mustn't  think  of  going.  Your 
father  gave  his  life  in  battle.  I  think  your 
mother  has  given  the  country  enough." 

I  walked  up  and  down  the  room  thinking. 

"It's  hard  work,"  said  Mr.  McCarthy.  "I  sit 
here  until  midnight  sometimes  pounding  at  the 
letters.  But  you'll  have  a  chance  to  travel  and 
meet  men  who  amount  to  something,  and  we'll 
have  a  good  time  together." 

"It's  only  a  matter  of  arranging  my  affairs," 
I  said  to  him.  "There's  my  mother  and  sis 
ter." 

197 


The    Hand-Made    Gentleman 

"Go  home  and  see  if  you  can  get  them  to 
move  here." 

He  lighted  a  long  cigar,  and  sat  down  with 
one  foot  on  the  desk.  The  hand-made  gentle 
man  had  learned  to  smoke. 

"There's  another  thing — I  want  to  open  my 
heart  to  you,"  he  said.  "I  haven't  a  brother 
or  sister  or  friend  that  I  can  talk  to  about  cer 
tain  matters.  The  fact  is,  I'm  in  love  and  en 
gaged  to  be  married." 

He  paused,  and  was  smoking  thoughtfully,  as 
I  asked,  "To  Miss  Fame?" 

"No;  she  didn't  reciprocate;  and  maybe  it's 
just  as  well.  I  am  engaged  to  a  talented  actress 
by  the  name  of  Maud  Isabel  Manning." 

He  paused  again  as  if  to  note  the  effect  of  this 
impressive  name,  and  continued:  "She's  from 
New  York,  and  beautiful  as  a  dream.  Came 
here  with  a  show,  and  one  morning  she  walked 
into  the  office.  Told  me  that  she  used  my 
toilet  soap,  and  wanted  to  see  the  factory.  I 
showed  her  about,  and  fell  in  love  with  her. 
She's  a  wonder — grand  clothes,  and  knows  how 
to  wear  'em;  wonderful  education,  fine  talker, 
sings  like  a  bird,  and  can  make  the  piano  roar. 
I  told  her  about  my  false  leg  and  foot  and  my 
family — that's  worse  than  a  wooden  leg — but 
she  doesn't  mind,  and  we're  going  to  be  married." 

198 


Mr.  Heron  Arrives  at  the  Shop 

I  fear  that  I  shared  the  prejudice  of  my  Puritan 
fathers  against  the  stage,  and  was  a  little  taken 
aback  and  a  bit  conservative  in  my  comment. 

I  think  he  felt  it,  for  he  blushed  and  began 
to  argue,  although  a  little  off  the  point. 

"I  think  every  gentleman  ought  to  marry. 
There's  something  about  women  that  makes  a 
man  gentle.  Old  bachelors  are  about  as  ugly 
as  a  bear  with  a  sore  head.  I  want  somebody 
to  work  for  besides  myself.  I  can't  love  myself 
well  enough  to  pay  for  the  struggle.  I've  got 
to  have  somebody  who  grows  happy  as  I  grow 
rich,  or  I  wouldn't  care  for  money,  upon  my 
word  I  wouldn't.  Then  the  Bible  says  that 
men  should  increase  and  multiply  and  replenish 
the  earth." 

I  wished  him  all  happiness,  and  tried  to  put 
his  mind  at  ease. 

"I  am  forgetting  you  in  talking  of  myself — 
you  will  want  to  retire,"  he  said,  and  we  closed 
the  office  and  walked  to  the  inn  together. 

Next  morning  some  one  rapped  at  my  bed 
room  door.  "Who's  there?"  I  demanded. 

"A  friend  and  fellow-citizen  from  St.  Lawrence 
County,"  was  the  answer,  and  I  knew  it  was 
Pearl. 

I  opened  the  door,  and  there  stood  my  old 
friend  in  the  familiar  goggles  and  linen  duster, 

199 


The   Hand-Made    Gentleman 

but  with  his  left  sleeve  empty  and  a  new  scar 
on  .the  side  of  his  face. 

"Mr.  Pearl!"  I  exclaimed;  "what's  happened 
to  you?" 

"Oh,  I've  just  been  trimmed  up  a  little,"  he 
said,  with  a  smile,  as  he  gave  me  his  hand.  "It's 
nothing.  Every  tree  needs  it  once  in  a  while. 
I  had  too  much  wood  for  my  sap." 

"An  accident?"  I  asked,  with  tears  in  my 
eyes. 

"An  accident,  an'  I'm  tryin'  to  forget  it," 
said  he.  "  How  are  the  folks  ?" 

And  I  saw  clearly  that  he  wished  me  to  say 
no  more  of  his  misfortunes.  Soon  Mr.  McCarthy 
came,  and  he  and  the  Pearl  went  to  the  shop 
together. 


STAGE  VIII 


IN  WHICH  YOUNG  MR.  HERON  COMES  TO  A  TURN 
IN  THE  ROAD 


FTER  breakfast  I  found  the  hand 
made  gentleman  at  his  factory,  and 
went  with  him  into  all  its  depart 
ments,  and  saw  a  hundred  men  and 
women  at  work. 
' '  i  want  you  to  go  and  ride  behind  my  trotter 
with  me,"  said  Mr.  McCarthy,  presently.  "Every 
gentleman  has  a  trotter  these  days,  and  bets  a 
little  money  on  him  once  in  a  while." 

The  hand-made  gentleman  lived  at  an  inn  not 
far  from  Saratoga,  and  one  could  not  even  enter 
it  without  getting  a  touch  of  the  gay  spirit  of 
the  summer  capital. 

As  we  opened  the  shop  door  a  drunken  wretch 
in  dirty  clothing  sat  on  the  porch.  He  rose, 
clinging  to  a  column,  and  asked  for  a  dollar. 

"Well,  uncle,  back  again,  eh?"  said  the  hand 
made  gentleman.  "No  more  to-day — no  more 
to-day." 

201 


The    Hand-Made  Gentleman 

He  spoke  in  a  kindly  tone,  and  said  to  me,  as 
he  went  on: 

"I  know  it's  a  disgrace,  but  I  can't  help  it; 
and  maybe  he  can't.  He's  my  uncle,  and  very 
fond  o'  me,  after  all.  Followed  me  down  here. 
Has  a  spree  every  little  while,  and  spends  all  he 
has  earned  in  a  day  or  two.  If  I  don't  give  him 
money  he  curses  me,  and  goes  about  the  place 
and  runs  me  down,  and  does  all  he  can  to  make 
me  ashamed  o'  myself.  Many  a  time  I've  felt 
like  shooting  him,  but  by-and-by  I  forgive  the 
poor  man  and  lift  him  out  o'  the  gutter  and  buy 
him  new  clothes  and  set  him  to  work  again. 
And,  do  you  know,  he's  been  a  great  help  to  me, 
as  ye  might  say  ?  Lord  Chesterfield  says  that  a 
gentleman  should  forgive  injuries,  and  I  guess 
it's  so.  He's  given  me  practice  in  the  art  of 
forgiving.  It's  done  me  good.  I  kind  o'  think, 
sometimes,  that  when  you  help  another  fellow 
to  get  on  his  feet  you  do  more  for  yourself  than 
ye  do  for  him." 

His  trotter,  hitched  to  a  light  buggy,  was 
waiting  at  the  door  of  the  inn,  and  we  drove 
away. 

"This  is  a  daughter  of  one  of  the  Morgans," 
he  said,  as  the  mare  began  to  show  her  stride. 
"They're  breeding  for  less  weight  and  more 
power  and  quicker  action.  It's  a  tendency  of 

202 


Young  Mr.  Heron  at  a  Turn  in  the  Road 

the  times.  Foot  and  wheel  are  beginning  to 
move  faster.  Everybody  is  tired  of  going  slow. 
Mr.  Bonner  says  that  he'll  show  us  a  horse  by- 
and-by  that  can  trot  in  2.15. 

"It's  a  funny  thing,"  he  added,  after  a  mo 
ment's  pause;  "my  factory  kind  o'  sets  the  pace 
for  this  town.  It  starts  the  day  and  ends  it. 
My  whistle  sends  every  one  to  work,  and  tells 
'em  when  to  knock  off,  in  and  out  o'  the  shop. 
When  it  sounds  in  the  morning  you'll  see  men 
who  started  a  little  late  running  to  get  to  their 
jobs.  It's  brought  new  ideas  and  business 
methods  and  a  quicker  step  into  the  old  town." 

The  hand-made  gentleman  took  me  to  my 
train  soon  after  dinner.  Pearl  was  there  to  see 
me  off. 

"I'm  glad  you're  comin'  here,  Jake,"  he  said, 
as  he  shook  my  hand.  "You've  always  been  a 
great  help  to  me." 

"I  don't  see  how,"  was  my  answer. 

"You've  helped  me  to  live,"  he  said,  with  a 
sober  look.  "As  soon  as  you  get  back  you  and 
McCarthy  will  go  down  and  see  Vanderbilt. 
I've  got  it  all  arranged.  The  medals  helped 
me.  It's  the  only  time  I  ever  used  'em.  They 
landed  me  in  the  Commodore's  office,  and  I  had 
a  talk  with  him  straight  from  the  shoulder. 
Told  him  if  he  went  into  the  transatlantic  ferry 

203 


The   Hand-Made  Gentleman 

business  he'd  lose  every  dollar  he  had,  as  Collins 
had  done.  He  wanted  to  know  what  made  me 
think  so,  an'  I  told  him  that  he  couldn't  com 
pete  with  the  English,  who  had  been  doing  that 
job  for  centuries  with  cheaper  labor  than  we 
could  hire.  I  explained  to  him  that  the  business 
was  a  growth  and  not  a  product ;  that  one  might 
as  well  try  to  compete  with  the  forest  by  plant 
ing  trees.  He  agreed  with  me." 

At  Heartsdale  I  found  my  sister  in  love  with 
her  work,  and  had  a  talk  with  the  superintendent 
in  Montreal,  who  promised  to  retain  her.  That 
evening,  as  we  sat  by  the  fire  at  home,  I  got  a 
view  of  myself  that  was  quite  new  to  me.  For 
a  time  it  filled  me  with  bitterness,  but  taught 
me  what  I  had  to  know,  and  set  me  forward  in 
the  race  a  little. 

Report  of  my  adventure  on  the  back  of  the 
rope-walker  had  got  to  Heartsdale — to  this  day 
I  know  not  how,  although  I  suspected  Bony. 
It  had  set  idle  tongues  wagging.  A  letter  to  my 
sister,  from  one  of  her  friends  on  a  far  side  of 
the  county,  told  how  she  had  heard  the  story, 
and,  of  course,  I  confessed  the  truth.  The  harm 
it  did  lay  in  this:  It  singled  me  out  and  stood 
me  up  for  scrutiny.  Follies  which  would  have 
been  forgotten  were  enlarged  and  raked  to 
gether  and  made  to  shine  forth.  The  under- 

204 


Young  Mr.  Heron  at  a  Turn  in  the  Road 

taker  and  the  carver  of  epitaphs  had  marked  me 
for  execution,  and,  assisted  by  the  Heartsdale 
Cornet  Band,  had  made  hopeful  progress.  They 
had  travelled  far,  and  everywhere  people  had 
wished  to  know  about  me,  and  I  had  been  well 
set  off  as  a  conceited,  dare-devil  sort  of  a  ne'er- 
do-well  who  had  been  concerned  in  the  smuggling 
business. 

I  began  to  understand  why  Colonel  Busby 
thought  so  ill  of  me,  and  there  was  only  one 
way  to  correct  his  opinion,  and  my  mother  made 
that  clear.  I  must  needs  go  to  work  and  make 
a  character  for  myself  and  show  it  in  my  con 
duct — as  the  hand-made  gentleman  had  done. 
My  way  would  not  be  quite  like  his,  but  I  must 
be  hand-made  and  upon  honor,  as  he  put  it. 
The  ready-made  article  had  not  stood  the  wear. 

"Perhaps  you  had  better  put  the  pretty  girl 
out  of  your  head  for  a  while,"  said  my  mother. 
"You  can  keep  her  in  your  heart,  and  that  will 
give  you  something  to  work  for.  But  you 
mustn't  give  your  brain  to  her.  You've  got  to 
make  a  man  of  yourself,  and  you  need  your 
brain  for  your  work." 

"Suppose  she  marries  somebody  else,"  I 
suggested. 

"Then  you  should  not  be  sorry,  because  if 
she  loves  you  she  will  wait  for  you," 

205 


The  Hand-Made  Gentleman 

That  seemed  like  rather  cold  philosophy.  Its 
power  over  me  grew  as  I  thought  of  it,  however, 
and  by-and-by  it  began  to  have  a  sustaining  force. 

"I  wish  I  could  go  to  the  war,"  I  remarked, 
with  a  sigh,  for  I  longed  to  be  a  hero  and  show 
my  courage,  as  my  father  had  done. 

"That's  a  wicked  business,"  said  my  mother, 
sadly.  "I  hoped  that  you  would  never  want  to 
go.  I  think  it  would  be  wise  for  you  to  go  with 
Mr.  McCarthy.  He  is  fond  of  you  and  has  good 
principles,  and  I  presume  it  is  best  for  you  to 
leave  this  town;  but  I  can't  spare  you  for  the 
war." 

I  told  them  all  about  my  visit  to  the  hand 
made  gentleman. 

"Is  he  as  homely  as  ever?"  my  sister  asked. 

"No,  he  has  grown  good-looking,"  I  answered. 
"He  is  going  to  be  married."  And  I  told  of  his 
engagement. 

"My  land!  I  wouldn't  marry  him  if  he  were 
the  last  man  in  the  world!"  Sarah  exclaimed. 

"Why?"  was  my  query. 

"He  looked  and  talked  so  funny — just  like 
a  young  old  man.  Then  he  was  so  afraid  of  me 
— hardly  dared  to  look  me  in  the  face.  I  don't 
see  how  he  had  the  courage  to  ask  her." 

' '  I  presume  she  furnished  all  the  courage  that 
was  necessary.  But  you'd  be  surprised  to  see 

206 


Young  Mr.  Heron  at  a  Turn  in  the  Road 

him.  He's  handsome,  and  can  walk  as  well  as 
anybody;  and  I  believe  he's  going  to  be  a  great 
man." 

"I'm  sure  I  wish  him  well." 

' '  Pearl  says  that  he  is  a  born  leader — that  the 
new  spirit  is  in  him.  I  think  that  girl  is  lucky." 

"I  hope  that  you  will  stick  to  him,"  said  my 
mother.  "You  see  I  have  a  new  motto  on  the 
wall." 

It  occupied  a  prominent  place  above  the 
mantel — a  yard  of  wisdom  in  letters  of  red  silk: 

STICK  TO  NOTHING  AND  NOTHING  WILL 
STICK  TO   YOU 

It  was  rather  good  counsel  for  a  boy,  and,  in 
truth,  I  had  begun  to  share  the  uneasiness  which, 
beyond  doubt,  had  inspired  this  gentle  reproof. 

"I'm  glad  you  thought  of  that  motto,  for  I 
want  you  to  stick  to  me,"  I  suggested.  "Mr. 
Pearl  says  that  as  soon  as  I  get  my  hand  in  you 
should  come  and  live  with  me,  both  of  you." 

"Mr.  Pearl  is  a  mystery,"  said  my  mother. 
"Sometimes  I  think  I  have  seen  him  before,  but 
I  cannot  place  him.  The  goggles  cover  his  eyes 
so,  and  I  have  heard  his  voice  but  once." 

I  gathered  all  my  clothing  and  treasures  and 
packed  them  into  my  trunk,  and  when  we  were 

207 


The  Hand-Made  Gentleman 

ready  to  go  to  bed  my  mother  gave  me  the 
horruck. 

"One  night  I  found  you  asleep  in  your  chair," 
she  said,  "and  the  horruck  lay  beside  you.  I 
saw  it  was  robbing  you  of  rest,  and  so  I  put  it 
away." 

"The  horruck!"  I  exclaimed.  "What  can  it 
mean?" 

"Your  teacher  put  the  coin  in  your  pocket 
that  day  before  Christmas,  years  ago.  It  is  one 
of  a  number  of  silver  pieces  that  were  marked 
by  an  old  and  kindly  man  who  lived  in  Hearts- 
dale  years  ago.  They  taught  his  religion,  and 
he  used  to  slip  them  into  the  pockets  of  needy 
people,  who  wondered  where  they  came  from. 
We  used  to  call  them  the  ghost  riddles." 

That  night  I  solved  the  riddle  of  the  horruck 
by  writing  down  the  alphabet  and  discarding  x 
and  choosing  letters  to  the  right  and  left  of  m, 
the  middle  letter.  So  I  got  this  message: 

Love  is  the  key  of  heaven. 
I  love  you. 

It  made  me  know  that  Jo  loved  me,  and  I  went 
to  bed  happier  than  I  had  ever  been. 

It  was  my  last  night  in  the  Mill  House  for 
many  a  long  year.  The  cry  of  the  wind  in  the 
chimney  and  the  sound  of  the  falling  water 

208 


Young  Mr.  Heron  at  a  Turn  in  the  Road 

put  a  new  prayer  in  my  heart  and  a  solemn  sense 
of  the  clearness  of  my  old  home,  not  to  be  lost 
in  care  and  toil,  in  pleasures  and  palaces. 

Next  day  I  returned  the  horruck  to  Jo,  so  as 
to  let  her  know,  plainly,  that  I  loved  her  also. 


STAGE   IX 


IN   WHICH    WE   MEET   THE    CAPTAIN   OF   THE    NEW 
ARMY 

GOT  to  Rushwater  late  at  night, 
and  reported  at  eight  next  morn 
ing  at  the  factory  office.  Mr. 
McCarthy  had  not  arrived,  and  I 
went  down  to  Pearl's  shop  in  the 
basement.  My  friend  sat  by  a  lathe.  He  rose 
and  embraced  me  with  his  one  arm.  Near  us  a 
carpenter  was  working  at  a  long  bench.  The 
Pearl  put  on  an  apron  and  began  to  heat  up  his 
forge. 

"How  are  you  getting  along  here?"  I  asked. 
"I  am  surprised  at  my  success,"  he  answered. 
"I   have   made   myself   the   most   hated   man 
in  Rushwater.     I  am  abhorred,  hissed  at,  de 
spised.     I  deprive  honest  labor  of  its  occupation 
and  grind  the  faces  o'  the  poor." 
"How  is  that?" 

"Well,  I  have  invented  a  machine  that  does 
the  work  of  ten  men,  and  does  it  better  than  they 

210 


We  Meet  the  Captain  of  the  New  Army 

did.  Now,  the  ten  had  to  find  other  jobs,  and 
they  didn't  like  it.  Did  you  ever  pull  a  hen  off 
her  perch  late  in  the  evening  ?  You  know  what 
a  noise  it  makes — all  the  others  get  scairt  an' 
begin  to  holler.  Well,  you  pull  a  man  off  his 
perch  and  you  get  the  same  sort  of  a  ruction. 
I  happen  to  be  the  leg-grabber.  I  didn't  mean 
to  do  any  harm.  The  purpose  o'  the  factory  is 
to  make  the  goods  as  cheap  as  possible,  and  I 
was  employed  to  help  solve  the  problem.  I've 
got  our  wheels  on  the  main  shaft,  and  God's 
draft-horse  is  whirlin'  'em." 

He  took  me  into  the  sub-cellar,  where  a  rush 
of  water  struck  the  buckets  of  a  turbine  and 
made  it  shriek  as  it  sped  on  its  pivot,  and 
the  power  of  a  hundred  horses  went  up  the 
shaft. 

Soon  a  boy  came  down  to  find  me,  and  said 
that  Mr.  McCarthy  had  arrived.  I  went  to  the 
office  at  once,  and  within  half  an  hour  had  be 
gun  my  new  work.  The  hand-made  gentleman 
had  secured  for  me  a  copy  of  Isaac  Pitman's 
treatise,  and  I  spent  all  my  leisure  in  the  ac 
quisition  of  "soundhand,"  or  shorthand,  as  we 
now  call  it.  I  enjoyed  my  work,  and  saw  at 
once  that  I  was  likely  to  do  some  good  in  it. 
Mr.  McCarthy  wished  me  to  spend  a  few  months 
in  a  business  college,  as  much  in  his  interest  as 

211 


The   Hand-Made  Gentleman 

my  own,  he  said  to  me,  and  in  New  York  he 
made  arrangements  to  that  end. 

"I  want  you  to  get  the  pace  of  the  city,"  he 
said  to  me,  "and  learn  how  to  score  up  in  proper 
style.  There's  a  lot  of  very  polished  people 
down  here.  See  how  they  dress  and  behave 
themselves  morning,  noon,  and  night.  It  will 
be  a  help  to  both  of  us." 

We  went  to  the  big  city  that  week,  I  to  begin 
my  studies,  and  he  to  have  a  talk  with  the  great 
Mr.  Vanderbilt.  The  Pearl  had  said  to  the 
hand-made  gentleman,  when  we  were  leaving 
Rushwater: 

"Don't  let  him  scare  you.  He's  as  full  o' 
power  as  my  turbine ;  has  a  good  deal  of  a  whir 
to  him.  Likes  resistance;  so  does  every  great 
force.  Used  to  row  a  boat  all  day,  an'  every 
day.  Fought  the  wind  an'  the  tide.  Stiffened 
his  hands  on  the  oar.  Can't  straighten  'em  to 
this  day.  He's  fought  a  thousand  difficulties. 
He'll  take  you  for  another  an'  pitch  into  ye — 
like  as  not.  Don't  let  him  scare  ye.  If  he  jumps 
on  ye,  jump  on  him;  he'll  enjoy  it,  an'  begin 
to  respect  ye.  It's  like  puttin'  a  belt  on  the 
turbine — you'll  take  off  a  bit  of  his  power  an' 
ease  him  down." 

We  passed  through  two  offices  on  our  way  to 
that  of  the  Commodore. 

212 


We  Meet  the  Captain  of  the  New  Army 

"Walk  right  in,"  said  a  colored  man,  who  sat 
near  an  open  door,  when  Mr.  McCarthy  had 
claimed  his  right  to  an  interview. 

We  entered,  and  saw  a  large,  handsome  man 
sitting  by  a  desk  on  the  farther  side  of  a  big 
room.  He  had  a  massive  head,  and  white  hair 
and  side-whiskers — the  latter  neatly  trimmed — 
and  sat  with  legs  crossed  in  a  big  arm-chair. 
The  elegance  of  his  attire  impressed  me,  espe 
cially  the  waistcoat  of  figured  silk,  the  jewel  in 
his  shirt-front,  and  the  spotless  white  choker. 
He  looked  up  over  his  glasses.  The  skin  began 
to  wrinkle  a  bit  around  his  dark  eyes. 

"Well,  what  is  it,  sonny?"  he  demanded. 

"My  name  is  James  Henry  McCarthy,  of  Rush- 
water,  New  York,"  said  my  friend. 

"I  don't  care  what  your  name  is;  tell  me  your 
business,"  said  Commodore  Vanderbilt — for  he 
it  was — and  he  spoke  sternly. 

"It's  a  railroad  project,  referred  to  by  my 
friend,  H.  M.  Pearl,  Esq.,  in  his  talk  with  you." 

"My  God!"  said  Mr.  Vanderbilt,  as  he  flung  a 
paper  on  the  desk  before  him .  "  I ' ve  got  proj  ects 
enough  now.  Will  you  please  let  me  alone?" 

"No,  I  will  not,"  said  the  hand-made  gentle 
man,  decisively.  "I've  travelled  over  two  hun 
dred  miles  to  keep  an  appointment  with  you, 
and  I  insist  that  you  show  me  proper  respect." 

213 


The  Hand-Made  Gentleman 

The  Commodore  changed  his  tone.  "Young 
man,"  said  he,  "I  won't  talk  with  you;  I  can't 
talk  with  you.  Come  to  my  house  to-night. 
I'll  see  you  at  half -past  seven." 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  said  the  hand-made  gentle 
man  as  we  left  the  room. 

Mr.  McCarthy's  feelings  had  been  hurt  and  his 
confidence  began  to  leave  him.  He  had  gone 
there  with  a  good  deal  of  honest  pride  in  his  heart 
— perhaps,  even,  a  little  too  much — and  I  think  he 
would  rather  I  had  not  seen  his  embarrassment. 

"I  am  surprised,"  he  said  to  me  as  we  were 
going  down  the  stairs  together.  "He  cannot 
have  read  the  letters  of  Lord  Chesterfield." 

"Hasn't  had  time,  probably,"  I  answered. 

Our  inn  was  near,  and  no  word  passed  between 
us  after  that  until  we  got  to  our  room.  My 
friend  strode  the  floor  in  silence,  and  tears  stood 
in  his  eyes  for  a  moment.  I  felt  for  him,  but 
could  think  of  nothing  to  say. 

"I  think  one  gentleman  ought  to  be  careful 
of  the  feelings  of  another,"  said  Mr.  McCarthy. 
"He  made  me  feel  like  a  dog." 

"He  was  out  of  sorts,"  I  remarked. 

"I  have  learned  this,"  said  the  hand-made 
gentleman:  "business  is  war.  I  see  it  clearer 
every  day.  If  you  want  respect  you've  got  to 
fight  for  it." 

214 


We  Meet  the  Captain  of  the  New  Army 

We  recovered  our  composure  by-and-by,  and 
spent  the  rest  of  the  day  among  tradesmen  ex 
tending  the  acquaintance  of  Sal  and  the  sisters 
of  Sal. 

At  half-past  seven  we  presented  ourselves  at 
the  house  of  the  Commodore  at  10  Washington 
Square. 

Mr.  McCarthy  carried  his  map  under  his  arm, 
and  it  was  about  half  the  diameter  of  a  piece  of 
stove-pipe. 

A  servant  showed  us  into  a  large  parlor.  We 
could  see  Mr.  Vanderbilt  in  a  room  back  of  it, 
sitting  by  a  table  in  his  shirt-sleeves  reading  a 
newspaper.  We  observed  him  fearfully  as  he 
took  our  cards  from  the  tray — plain  written 
cards  they  were,  save  that  Mr.  McCarthy's  had 
a  bird  on  it,  drawn  by  his  secretary.  He  flung 
his  paper  aside  and  rose — a  splendid  figure  of 
a  man,  full  chest,  broad  shoulders,  and  the  six 
feet  of  him  straight  as  an  arrow — and  came 
slowly  into  the  parlor  where  we  sat. 

* '  Well,  sonny,  what  can  I  do  for  you  ?"  he  asked. 

"I  have  a  map  to  show  you,"  said  Mr. 
McCarthy. 

"Where  is  it?"  was  the  sharp  query  of  the 
Commodore. 

My  friend  began  to  unroll  his  map,  and  said, 
"Here  it  is." 

215 


The  Hand-Made  Gentleman 

The  steamboat  king  was  impatient.  A  sharp 
exclamation  shot  from  his  lips,  like  the  toot  of 
a  warning  whistle,  and  he  added:  "It's  bigger'n 
a  bill-board.  Unfurl  it  on  the  floor  there.  Run 
it  down  into  the  back  parlor." 

In  a  moment  Mr.  McCarthy  had  spread  his 
map  and  begun  talking. 

"Here's  Albany,"  he  said,  pointing  with  his 
cane.  "Here's  eleven  railroads  reaching  west 
to  Buffalo,  called  the  Central  System.  Here  are 
others  that  go  on  to  Chicago  and  others  that 
run  east  to  Boston.  Here  is  the  steamer  line 
from  New  York  to  Albany,  closed  half  the  year. 
Here  are  two  lines  of  railroad  that  run  north 
from  New  York  to  the  capital — the  Harlem  and 
the  Hudson  River.  The  Harlem  road  can  be 
bought  for  less  than  six  cents  on  the  dollar.  I 
want  you  to  buy  it." 

"What  the  devil  do  I  want  of  it?"  the  Com 
modore  demanded. 

"It's  the  key  o'  the  future,  and  you  need 
it,"  said  McCarthy.  "It's  the  beginning  of  a 
great  plan.  First  buy  the  Harlem,  and  then 
buy  the  Hudson  River  road.  And  do  you  not 
see  that  all  these  railroads  that  run  east  and 
west  up  here  can't  reach  the  metropolis  with 
out  your  help  —  especially  in  the  winter  when 
the  steamers  are  out  of  business  ?  Did  you  ever 

216 


We  Meet  the  Captain  of  the  New  Army 

see  a  small  boy  lead  a  big  bull?  It's  surprising 
how  easy  he  does  it  when  he  has  a  ring  in  the 
bull's  nose." 

I  remembered  the  bull  at  Baker's,  and  felt 
the  truth  of  his  remark. 

The  Commodore  was  now  leaning  over  the 
map  and  looking  down  upon  it. 

"These  two  railroads  will  give  you  command 
of  the  whole  situation,"  my  friend  continued, 
"and  that's  important." 

Mr.  McCarthy  paused  for  half  a  moment. 

"Go  on,  go  on,"  said  the  Commodore;  "let's 
have  your  argument." 

' '  You  can  whip  'em  all  into  one  system,  from 
New  York  and  Boston  to  Chicago.  You  can 
give  us  a  continuous  trip  between  these  cities. 
You  can  run  freight  to  any  point  in  the  system 
without  rehandling  on  through  cars,  to  pay  each 
railroad  according  to  the  mileage  it  supplies. 
You  would  make  it  possible  for  me  to  sell  my 
goods  in  Chicago  and  other  distant  cities  and 
deliver  'em  on  time.  You  would  quicken  the 
pace  of  business.  Every  factory  on  the  line 
would  double  its  output  in  two  years.  It  means 
growth  and  a  new  republic  and  a  string  of 
great  cities,  and  a  stream  of  traffic  flowing  east 
and  west  like  a  river.  There  are  not  so  many 
tons  in  the  St.  Lawrence  as  your  wheels  would 

217 


The  Hand-Made  Gentleman 

carry,  and  they  would  roll  on  like  the  water- 
floods,  never  stopping.  They  would  enrich  you 
beyond  the  dreams  of  avarice." 

The  hand-made  gentleman  saw  the  truth  clear 
ly,  and  flashed  the  torch  of  his  enthusiasm  on 
all  sides  of  it.  He  shook  his  cane  over  the  map ; 
his  eyes  glowed  like  a  prophet's.  After  all  this 
time,  I  can  but  dimly  suggest  the  quaint  dignity 
and  the  singular  power  of  his  appeal.  I  felt  it, 
and  have  tried  to  remember  all,  since  these  years 
have  complimented  his  insight  by  making  his 
tory  of  his  dreams.  I  recall  how  his  ardor 
thrilled  me,  and  how  the  Commodore  rose  from 
his  knee  and  looked  at  him. 

"Young  man,"  he  said,  "the  dreams  of  avarice 
do  not  bother  me.  I  have  money  enough." 

The  tone  of  his  voice  made  it  clear  to  me, 
even,  that  Mr.  McCarthy's  talk  had  impressed  him. 

"True,"  said  the  hand-made  gentleman;  "but 
you  have  power,  composed  of  brains,  money, 
and  public  confidence.  You're  the  only  man 
who  can  do  this  thing,  and  it  ought  to  be  done. 
You  must  do  it  for  the  sake  of  the  country. 
Patriotism,  and  not  avarice,  will  inspire  you." 

The  Commodore  smiled. 

"Boy,  how  old  are  you?"  he  queried. 

"Twenty- three  years ;  but  they  count  double. ' ' 

"They  tell  me  you've  made  some  money?" 
218 


We  Meet  the  Captain  of  the  New  Army 

"I'm  getting  along  very  well." 

"Sit  down  a  minute." 

A  man  about  thirty  years  of  age  had  just  en 
tered  the  room.  Mr.  Vanderbilt  turned  to  him. 

' '  I  want  you  to  come  over  and  keep  my  books, ' ' 
he  said,  brusquely. 

"But,  uncle,  I'm  not  a  bookkeeper,"  said  the 
young  man.  "I  don't  know  how." 

"You  know  enough  to  take  the  money  that 
comes  in?" 

"Yes." 

"And  add  up  the  expenses?" 

"Yes." 

"And  give  me  the  difference?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  that's  all  I  want,  and  any  d fool 

could  do  that.     You  may  begin  Monday.   Good 
night." 

The  thoughts  of  the  Commodore  went  straight 
to  their  mark  and  his  words  followed  them. 

He  put  his  right  hand  on  the  arm  of  Mr. 
McCarthy.  I  saw  then  how  the  grip  of  the  oar 
had  stiffened  his  fingers. 

"Young  man,  I'll  think  it  over,"  said  he. 
"You  go  home  and  don't  talk  too  much.  What 
ye  don't  say  will  never  do  any  harm.  I  make 
it  a  rule  of  my  life  never  to  talk  of  anything  I'm 
going  to  do  until  I've  done  it." 

219 


The   Hand-Made  Gentleman 

We  left  the  house  and  walked  slowly  in  the 
direction  of  Broadway. 

"He'll  do  it,"  said  the  hand-made  gentleman. 
"He  caught  my  point  on  the  fly.  His  brain  is 
quick  as  lightning,  and  he  had  the  whole  thing 
in  a  second.  He  let  me  go  on  to  make  sure  that 
I  knew  what  I  was  talking  about." 

"Suppose  he  does  what  you  want  him  to, 
how  are  you  going  to  make  by  it?"  I  asked. 

"Ill  trust  him  for  that,"  said  Mr.  McCarthy. 
"However,  I  can  take  care  o'  myself.  As  soon 
as  he  makes  a  move  I'll  buy  stock,  that's  what 
I'll  do.  James  Henry  McCarthy  will  not  be  left 
behind."  After  a  moment's  reflection,  he  added: 
"I'm  surprised  at  one  thing:  he  swears  like  a 
trooper.  And  did  you  see  that  he  came  out  in 
a  pair  of  carpet  slippers?" 

"Yes,"  I  answered. 

"He  would  have  shocked  Lord  Chesterfield," 
Mr.  McCarthy  went  on.  "A  gentleman  ought 
to  be  more  careful."  He  stopped  presently 
and  gave  me  his  hand,  saying:  "I'm  going  to 
see  Miss  Manning;  she's  the  dearest  girl  in  all 
the  world.  Leaves  on  a  long  tour  to-morrow, 
and  I  shall  spend  a  week  with  her  on  the  road. 
It  doesn't  seem  right  for  her  to  be  travelling 
unattended.  I  want  her  to  be  a  lady.  Perhaps 
I  shall  hire  some  woman  to  go  with  her." 

220 


STAGE  X 


WHICH    BRINGS   MR.  HERON    TO   A    HIGH   POINT  IN 
THE    ROAD 

CONTINUED  my  studies  in  New 
York  for  a  year  and  a  half.  My 
growth,  like  McCarthy's,  had  been 
forced  a  little  by  the  pressure  of 
hard  experience,  and  I  was  more 
serious  and  more  thoughtful  and  observing,  pos 
sibly,  than  boys  of  my  age  were  apt  to  be. 
When  I  returned  to  Rushwater  I  had  some 
knowledge  of  banking  and  bookkeeping,  and 
the  power  and  purpose  of  corporations,  and, 
indeed,  of  the  whole  theory  of  business — not  so 
much  as  I  thought  I  had,  of  course,  for  no  man 
has  struck  the  right  balance  in  the  big  ledger  of 
his  own  mind  until  it  is  nearly  full.  He  is  so 
apt  to  overcredit  himself  and  forget  some  of 
the  charges.  Well,  in  spite  of  that,  I  had  things 
on  the  right  side,  and,  among  other  items,  my 
phonography,  for  my  hand  could  follow  the 
tongues  of  the  orators,  and  that  was  a  pace 

221 


The  Hand-Made   Gentleman 

for  you!  Those  days  New  York  was  full  of 
prophets.  I  went  to  hear  them  for  the  sake 
of  practice,  and  gathered  reams  of  florid  elo 
quence. 

It  is  curious  how  I  clung  to  that  boy  love  in 
my  heart.  My  sister  had  gone  to  Merrifield  to 
visit  a  school  friend,  and  met  Jo,  since  when  they 
had  written  letters  to  each  other.  So  all  my 
best  news  came  roundabout,  and  was  never  too 
much,  but  always  enough  to  sustain  my  passion. 

There  were  perils  in  the  big  city  for  one  of  my 
age  without  a  home,  but  this  thing  in  my  heart 
gave  me  good  counsel.  Whatever  others  may 
have  thought  of  her,  to  me  she  was  like  Pallas 
to  the  Greek — a  divinity — and  I  had  to  be 
worthy  of  her.  I  had  met  good  people,  and 
seen  a  bit  of  the  best  life  of  the  city  through  my 
mother's  uncle,  Mr.  Schermerhorn,  and  gathered 
knowledge  of  the  amenities  for  my  friend 
McCarthy. 

Once  again  I  had  seen  Mr.  Vanderbilt  when 
his  famous  Mountain  Gal  was  to  race  near  Coney 
Island.  I  took  the  horse-cars  in  Brooklyn,  and 
went  as  far  as  they  would  carry  me  on  my 
way  to  the  track,  and  tramped  down  the  road 
while  others  raced  along  in  every  kind  of  vehicle. 
It  was  after  the  hour,  and  the  crowd  had  passed 
me,  and  I  had  not  far  to  go,  when  along  came 

222 


Which  Brings  Mr.  Heron  to  a  High  Point 

the  Commodore  in  his  gig.  I  raised  my  hat  to 
him,  and  he  pulled  up  beside  me. 

"Have  a  ride,  boy?"  he  asked. 

I  thanked  him  and  got  in,  and  away  we  sped. 

"Going  to  the  race?"  he  inquired. 

"Yes,  sir.     I  want  to  see  your  horse  go." 

"You  know  me?" 

"Yes.     You  remember  the  big  map?" 

"Oh,  I  see  you  was  somebody  I  knew.  Great 
boy  —  that  young  Irishman.  He'll  make  his 
mark.  Have  you  a  ticket?" 

"No,"  I  said. 

"Nevermind;   I'll  fix  it." 

So  I  entered  with  him  in  his  gig,  and  he  took 
me  to  the  club-house  and  found  a  seat  for  me. 

Next  day  I  returned  to  my  home  in  Hearts- 
dale,  and  hoped  while  there  to  go  to  Merrifield 
and  see  the  Colonel  and  Jo.  I  was  much  taken 
down  to  learn  from  my  sister  that  they  had 
sailed  for  Liverpool  the  day  before. 

I  was  ready  for  my  career  at  Rushwater,  and 
my  mother  and  sister  were  going  to  live  with 
me  in  a  snug  house  which  the  hand-made  gentle 
man  had  built  and  furnished  for  us. 

I  called  upon  Judge  Crocket  and  presented  my 
compliments.  Mr.  Boggs  and  the  soldiers  were 
playing  old  sledge  in  a  corner.  All  eyes  were 
turned  upon  me.  The  Judge  asked  how  I  was 

223 


The  Hand-Made    Gentleman 

getting  along,  and  greeted  my  answer  with  a 
little  smile  of  incredulity.  His  smiles  at  time 
had  the  gleam  of  steel  and  cut  like  a  chisel ;  but 
I  wanted  to  make  friends,  and  said: 

"I  have  thought  it  over,  and  made  up  my 
mind  that  you  were  very  kind  to  me." 

"Oh,  you  have!"  he  answered,  as  if  caring  lit 
tle  what  I  thought. 

Now  I  had  meant  to  be  polite,  but  his  indif 
ference  stung  me,  and  I  added: 

"Yes;  you  sent  me  out  of  bad  business  and 
worse  company.  I  am  grateful.  You  men  who 
live  in  the  shadow  of  death  don't  know  how 
pleasant  the  world  is.  I  want  to  thank  you." 

Judge  Crocket  began  to  carve  the  air  with  his 
chisel.  "You're  a  scamp,  sir,"  he  declared. 
"You  wrote  that  'scurrilious'  poem  about  the 
dance  at  Jones' .  It  was  an  outrage — an  outrage ! ' ' 

"I  deserve  no  such  credit,"  was  my  answer. 
"I  did  not  write  the  poem,  and,  if  it  hurt  your 
feelings,  I  am  glad  that  I  know  nothing  of  its 
authorship.  But  you  have  no  right  to  com 
plain.  For  years  you  have  been  cutting  people 
to  the  bone  with  sharp  criticism.  You  seem  to 
think  well  of  no  one.  You  have  said  things  about 
me  that  were  undeserved  and  scandalous." 

The  Judge  had  resumed  his  cutting,  and  the 
wrinkles  in  his  face  had  deepened,  but  he  made 

224 


Which  Brings  Mr.  Heron  to  a  High  Point 

no  answer.  Mr.  Boggs  nudged  his  neighbor  and 
looked  up  at  me  with*  a  smile,  in  which  amuse 
ment  was  mingled  with  contempt. 

I  left  the  shop,  and  found  Swipes  and  some  of 
our  old  companions  waiting  for  me  outside  the 
door.  Swipes  had  grown  so  that  I  scarcely 
knew  him. 

"How  are  you  and  the  shingle-nail?"  I  asked. 

"The  nail  an'  I  have  gone  out  of  partner 
ship,"  he  answered.  "I  don't  worry  any  more 
about  that  nail.  I  used  to  lie  awake  nights 
thinking  of  it.  By-and-by  I  forgot  it,  and  was 
all  right.  I  drawed  the  nail  out  o'  my  mind, 
as  ye  might  say,  and  have  had  no  more  trouble." 

Swipes  had  gone  into  deeper  water  than  he 
knew.  From  that  moment  I  began  to  draw  the 
shingle-nails  out  of  my  own  mind ;  the  opposition 
of  Boggs  and  Crocket  was,  after  all,  a  little  mat 
ter.  What  kind  of  man  was  I  in  fact  ? — there 
was  the  important  thing,  not  what  they  thought 
of  me.  Death  and  his  angels  were  ever  striving 
to  pull  one  down.  I  would  not  let  them  halt  or 
baffle  me  for  a  moment.  I  had  my  belt  on  the 
great  engine  of  life,  as  Pearl  had  told  me,  and 
I  knew  it  would  whirl  me  on. 

So  from  that  day  I  permitted  little  things  to 
worry  me  no  longer,  but  gave  my  strength  wholly 
to  greater  issues.     I  forgot  the  shingle-nails. 
is  225 


The   Hand-Made  Gentleman 

The  boys  had  heard  of  my  adventure  on  the 
high  rope,  and  now  regarded  me  with  a  kind  of 
awe,  and  put  many  queries.  I  answered  them 
with  a  sense  of  sadness  and  humility  that  there 
was  nothing  else  in  my  career  which  they  thought 
it  worth  while  to  ask  about. 

On  the  whole,  I  was  not  sorry  to  leave  the 
village  of  Heartsdale.  It  was  greatly  changed. 
The  burned  area  was  pretty  well  covered  with 
new  buildings.  One  man  had  left  a  black,  dirty, 
charred  ruin  flush  with  the  sidewalk  in  the  very 
centre  of  the  main  street,  and  refused  either  to 
remove  it  or  permit  it  to  be  removed.  He 
blamed  the  firemen  and  the  pump  and  every 
body  in  the  village  for  the  loss  of  his  store,  and 
there  stood  the  ruin  for  a  punishment — a  black 
memorial  of  his  blacker  scorn. 

New  faces  were  on  every  side.  A  steam-mill 
had  come,  and  morning,  noon,  and  night  one 
could  hear  the  peal  of  its  whistle.  The  first 
waves  of  power  had  reached  the  little  town. 
Instead  of  being  content  with  its  small  farmer- 
traffic,  the  town  itself  had  become  a  producer, 
and  was  shipping  doors  and  blinds  and  sashes, 
and  boats  and  canoes,  and  rough  and  dressed 
lumber  to  distant  places.  A  new  act  was  be 
ginning  in  the  great  drama  of  the  republic. 

When  we  started  for  Rushwater  there  were 
226 


Which  Brings  Mr.  Heron  to  a  High  Point 

at  least  a  score  of  the  friends  and  schoolmates 
of  my  sister  who  went  to  the  station  for  a  last 
word  with  us.  There  was  not  a  prettier  miss 
in  the  north  country  than  that  very  sister  of 
mine — save  Jo,  the  incomparable  Jo! 

The  hand-made  gentleman  met  us  at  the 
depot  in  Rushwater,  and  drove  us  to  our  new 
home  with  a  fine  coach  and  pair. 

"What  a  change!"  said  my  sister,  when  he 
had  left  us  for  the  night.  "He  has  grown  posi 
tively  handsome  and  is  a  real  gentleman." 

Success  and  observation  and  right  thinking, 
above  all,  had  distinguished  the  man — James 
Henry  McCarthy.  Something — was  it  the  tire 
less  upreach  of  his  thor.ght? — had  straightened 
his  figure  and  raised  his  chin  a  little,  and  cov 
ered  him  with  a  strong,  calm  dignity,  as  with  a 
robe  of  higher  office,  and  tuned  his  voice  for 
new  appeals,  so  that  even  I  was  surprised  and 
got  a  little  touch  of  awe,  and  felt  my  smallness 
when  I  took  his  hand.  I  spoke  of  these  things 
and  of  my  feeling. 

"Well,"  said  my  mother,  "the  only  real  gen 
tleman  is  'hand-made,'  as  he  puts  it.  After  all, 
one  cannot  inherit  much  of  that.  One  has  to 
begin,  soon  or  late,  and  build  slowly  and  pa 
tiently,  putting  one  stone  on  another,  just  as 
Mr.  McCarthy  has  done." 

227 


Book   Three 

In    which   the   Youth    and    the    Hand- Made 

Gentleman    See    and    Do    Some 

Wonderful   Things 


CHAPTER  I 

THE   SINGULAR    BEGINNING   OF   A   NEW   CAREER 

ARLY  next  morning  Mr.  McCarthy 
came  and  took  me  for  a  drive.  He 
was  a  new  man,  quiet,  serious,  and 
inclined  to  let  me  do  the  talking. 
I  thought  of  him  no  more  as  the 
hand-made  gentleman.  Just  the  one  word  was 
enough  for  him  now. 

Something  had  gone  wrong  with  him,  and  I 
wondered  what  it  might  be.  I  hoped  he  would 
speak  of  the  love-affair.  He  put  many  questions, 
and  said,  by-and-by: 

"I'm  glad  you've  come,  for  the  railroad  work 
takes  half  my  time,  and  poor  Sal  is  neglected. 
I  want  you  to  tackle  Sal.  I'm  going  to  organize 
a  stock  company  for  Sal,  and  make  you  president 
perhaps,  and  give  all  my  time  to  larger  things. 
The  army  of  steam-power  is  going  to  need  help 
at  Albany,  and  I  may  try  for  a  seat  in  the  legis 
lature.  But  you  know  Horace  Bulger  runs  the 
county,  and  I  won't  buy  honor.  I've  got  to 

231 


The  Hand-Made  Gentleman 

beat  him.  I  thought  it  would  be  easy,  with 
three  hundred  voters  in  my  shop,  but  the  first 
I  knew  Bulger  had  stirred  them  up.  They're 
growling  about  our  machines,  and  the  trouble 
will  last  until  convention  time,  you  see.  He 
did  it  to  block  my  game.  If  I  want  to  go  I've 
got  to  settle  with  him."  After  a  moment  of 
silence,  he  added:  "There's  a  lot  for  you  to  do. 
I  want  you  to  begin  by  advertising  the  hygienic 
value  of  a  bath  every  day.  Keep  dinging  on 
the  idea  that  soap  and  civilization  go  hand  in 
hand.  Let  it  be  understood  that  a  clean  mind 
can  only  live  in  a  clean  body,  that  decency  be 
gins  with  soap.  Let  us  assail  the  great  army  of 
the  unwashed,  and  increase  the  respect  of  the 
people  for  Salome,  the  clover-scented  sister  of 
Sal." 

The  shop  had  doubled  its  size,  and  now  cov 
ered  half  an  acre  of  the  river  shore. 

I  found  Pearl  and  Barker  in  a  larger  basement 
shop.  The  gray-haired  man  put  his  one  arm 
around  me  and  held  me  close  for  half  a  moment, 
and  said  not  a  word.  Then  he  sat  down  and 
raised  his  goggles  and  wiped  his  eyes,  and  I  re 
member  that  I  felt  a  little  ashamed  of  my  own 
weakness. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Barker!"  he  called,  when  the  goggles 
were  in  place  again. 

232 


The  Singular  Beginning  of  a  New  Career 

Mr.  Barker  took  his  stand  in  the  old  familiar 
attitude  of  receiver  for  the  firm. 

' '  What  do  we  say  to  the  gentleman  from  New 
York,  and  late  of  St.  Lawrence  County?" 

The  dog  barked  almost  gleefully. 

"You  are  right,  Mr.  Barker.  We  are  de 
lighted  to  see  him.  We  bid  him  welcome  to  the 
growing  village  of  Rushwater.  We  do,  indeed." 

He  led  me  to  the  turbine. 

"See,"  he  said,  "it  runs  smoother  and  makes 
less  noise;  it  has  got  dignity;  it  knows  how  to 
handle  its  power." 

I  could  not  help  thinking  that  it  was,  in  a 
way,  like  McCarthy  himself. 

Well,  I  had  no  sooner  entered  the  stirring  life 
of  the  shop  at  Rushwater  than  things  began  to 
happen.  One  day  Mr.  Horace  Bulger  came  into 
the  office,  where  I  sat  alone  with  the  gentleman. 
The  power  of  Mr.  Bulger  was  universally  known 
and  respected.  He  ran  the  politics  of  the  county. 
For  years  no  citizen  within  its  boundaries  had 
been  elected  to  office  without  his  consent.  He 
was  born  poor;  he  had  neither  toiled  nor  spun; 
he  never  seemed  to  want  anything  for  himself, 
but,  somehow,  Mr.  Bulger  had  prospered,  and 
very  handsomely,  as  things  went. 

"I  have  something  to  say  to  you,"  said  Mr. 
Bulger,  addressing  the  hand-made  gentleman. 

233 


The  Hand-Made  Gentleman 

"Say  it,"  said  the  latter. 

"Perhaps  it  had  better  be  confidential." 

"Go  right  ahead.  This  young  man  is  my 
private  secretary,  and  knows  all  my  business. 
If  I  should  sell  my  soul,  he'd  have  to  know  the 
price." 

Mr.  Bulger  hesitated. 

"I  do  not  need  to  say  that  your  confidence 
will  be  respected  by  both  of  us,"  my  friend  added. 

"Mr.  McCarthy,"  said  the  wily  Bulger,  as  he 
dropped  into  a  chair,  "I  think  you  are  likely  to 
be  nominated  by  the  Republicans  of  our  district 
for  the  Assembly." 

"You  are  too  confident,  Mr.  Bulger,"  said  the 
hand-made  gentleman.  "I  will  bet  you  three 
thousand  dollars  that  I  am  not  nominated  and 
elected  this  year." 

Those  old  models  of  gentlemanhood,  after 
which  Mr.  McCarthy  had  fashioned  himself,  saw 
no  harm  in  a  wager. 

The  politician  thought  a  moment  and  smiled. 
Then  said  he: 

"I  will  take  the  bet,  and  am  ready  to  post 
the  money." 

"Your  check  is  good  enough,"  Mr.  McCarthy 
answered. 

"No  checks,"  said  the  other.  "Let's  make  it 
money." 

234 


The  Singular  Beginning  of  a  New  Career 

''Who  shall  be  the  stake-holder?"  was  the 
inquiry  of  my  friend. 

"Your  secretary — if  you  will  vouch  for  him." 

"I'd  trust  my  life  with  him,"  said  the  hand 
made  gentleman. 

So  the  money  was  put  into  my  hands,  to  be 
deposited  to  my  credit  in  Mr.  Bulger's  bank. 

"One  thing  I  have  to  ask,"  Mr.  McCarthy 
added:  "You  know  I  have  no  secrets,  and  don't 
want  any.  I'm  not  ashamed  of  this  bet,  and 
I  hope  you're  not." 

"Not  a  bit,"  said  Mr.  Bulger. 

"All  right  then;  we've  got  nothing  to  cover 
up." 

"Not  a  thing." 

"Good!  I  want  everything  aboveboard.  We 
can  either  of  us  tell  the  whole  truth  if  it  should 
seem  necessary." 

When  Mr.  Bulger  had  left  us,  I  turned  to  my 
friend  McCarthy  and  said: 

"You're  sure  to  be  elected  now." 

"Of  course  I  am,"  said  the  gentleman.  "But 
he's  got  some  work  on  his  hands.  I  cannot 
understand  his  coming  here.  To  begin  with, 
he'll  have  to  settle  that  strike  for  me,  and  it 
may  not  be  so  easy.  He's  got  to  unravel  a  lot 
of  his  own  knitting  or  pay  the  forfeit.  I  don't 
think  he  knows  what  it  means." 

235 


The   Hand-Made  Gentleman 

We  both  laughed  for  a  moment,  after  which 
he  went  on: 

' '  It's  his  funeral — not  mine.  A  gentleman  can 
bet,  but  he  could  not  make  a  bargain  for  a  seat  in 
the  legislature,  and  it's  undignified  and  immoral 
to  pay  for  votes.  Bulger  has  got  to  do  the  work. ' ' 

I  regret  sometimes  that  Mr.  McCarthy  had  not 
then  the  surer  light  that  came  in  due  time.  He 
was  very  human,  so  do  not  expect  too  much  of  him. 

That  day  our  evening  paper  contained  this 
announcement : 

VANDERBILT     OWNS      THE      HARLEM      ROAD  —  WILL 

THE     STEAMBOAT     KING     LEAD     THE     IRON 

HORSE  CAVALRY  IN  ITS  WESTWARD 

CHARGE? 

"Now  I  understand,"  said  the  hand-made 
gentleman;  "Bulger  was  acting  under  orders 
when  he  came  here  to-day." 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  Vanderbilt  con 
trols  the  Republican  party?"  I  asked. 

' '  He  wants  honest  and  progressive  men  in  the 
legislature,  and  has  a  hand  in  many  a  caucus," 
said  McCarthy.  "He's  got  to  do  it  or  have  a 
lot  of  pirates  to  reckon  with  when  he  goes  up  to 
Albany  for  the  legislation  he  needs.  Any  man 
likely  to  block  the  wheels  of  progress  is  killed  in 
the  conventions,  if  not  before.  He's  paving  the 
way  for  a  new  era." 

236 


CHAPTER  II 


IN  WHICH  PEARL'S  OLD  MARE  BEGINS  TO  HURRY 
us  ALONG 

EARL  had  learned  how  to  use  and 
control  the  great  draft-horse  of  the 
river.  At  a  touch  of  his  finger  a 
belt  moved,  and  up  went  the  push 
of  the  falling  waters  into  a  thousand 
feet  of  shafting.  Other  levers  could  divide  this 
stream  of  power  into  some  forty  currents  guided 
by  leathern  belts  to  the  labor-saving  devices  of 
my  able  friend.  These  latter  had  doubled  the 
capacity  of  the  shop  without  increasing  its  work 
ing  force,  and  soon  the  machines  which  made 
"Sal  and  Sal's  Sisters"  began  to  be  regarded  as 
the  rivals — and  even  as  the  enemies — of  labor. 

The  candidacy  of  Mr.  McCarthy  had  been 
announced;  the  caucuses  were  coming  on;  no 
sign  of  opposition  had  developed. 

One  morning  the  gentleman  came  in  with  im 
portant  news. 

"They  will  strike  to-morrow,"  he  said.     "I 
237 


The   Hand-Made  Gentleman 

have  learned  the  whole  plot.  Gaffney,  that  lit 
tle  red-headed  Irishman  who  is  the  boss  of  the 
wrapping-room,  is  at  the  bottom  of  it.  They 
had  a  secret  session  last  night  and  made  him 
spokesman.  He  will  come  here  to-morrow  morn 
ing  and  ask  me  to  put  out  the  machines.  If  I 
refuse,  they  will  quit  and  fight  me." 

He  sat,  thoughtfully,  tapping  with  his  pencil. 
In  half  a  moment  he  said : 

"That  man  Gaffney  has  quite  a  head  on  him. 
I  think  I'll  promote  the  fellow." 

"Promote  him!"  I  exclaimed. 

"Yes;  I  never  discharge  anybody.  I  pro 
mote  people  if  it  becomes  necessary  to  get  rid 
of  them." 

He  tapped  his  call-bell,  and  said  to  the  errand 
boy,  "Ask  Mr.  Gaffney  to  come  here." 

Gaffney  arrived  presently,  a  bit  embarrassed. 

"Sit  down  a  moment,"  said  Mr.  McCarthy. 
"I  said  when  you  came  here  that  I  would  keep 
an  eye  on  you,  and  I've  done  it.  I'm  satisfied 
that  you're  too  talented  for  your  position.  I'm 
going  to  send  you  to  the  shop  in  Troy,  where  our 
machines  are  made,  and  keep  you  there  until 
you've  learned  all  about  them.  Then  I'll  try 
you  as  superintendent,  at  a  larger  salary,  and  a 
5-per-cent.  interest  in  the  profits.  If  you  'tend 
to  business  you'll  make  a  fortune." 

238 


Pearl's  Old  Mare  Begins  to  Hurry  Us 

Gaffney  was  dumb  with  surprise.  His  face 
turned  red;  his  hands  trembled;  he  voiced  his 
gratitude  in  a  stammered  sentence. 

"I'm  glad  to  do  it,"  said  McCarthy.  "Go 
back  to  your  work,  and  be  ready  to  leave  Mon 
day  morning." 

Gaffney  retired,  and  my  friend  sent  for  another 
man. 

"This  is  a  different  kind  of  chap,"  said  the 
gentleman.  "He's  a  sore  on  the  body  of  poor 
Sal,  and  we'll  remove  him  by  a  gentle  sort  of 
surgery. ' ' 

His  name  was  Hinkley,  and  presently  in  he 
came. 

"Hinkley,"  said  my  friend,  "I'm  going  to  pro 
mote  you.  To-morrow  you  may  go  to  the  plant 
at  Amadam.  You  shall  have  a  3  -  per  -  cent, 
interest  in  the  profits  of  that  enterprise.  Go 
ahead  and  make  them  as  big  as  you  can." 

Hinkley  returned  to  his  bench  in  a  grateful 
spirit,  although  a  bit  puzzled,  as  I  saw  by  the 
look  of  his  face. 

When  we  were  alone,  McCarthy  turned  with  a 
smile  and  said : 

"You  see,  the  plant  at  Amadam  is  a  reforma 
tory  for  the  promoted.  Of  course,  it  doesn't 
make  any  money,  and  as  soon  as  it  begins  to 
lose  a  hundred  dollars  a  month  I  shall  stop  it, 

239 


The    Hand-Made    Gentleman 

and  they'll  be  out  in  the  cold  world.  I'm  fair 
with  them;  they  have  a  chance  to  make  some 
profit  if  they  will  and  keep  their  jobs.  It's 
their  funeral,  not  mine.  If  any  man  improves 
there,  and  develops  talent  and  good-will,  I 
promote  him  back  to  the  home  shop.  If  any 
one  is  unmanageable,  I  promote  him  to  the  soap- 
grease  department  at  Buffalo.  There  I  have  a 
hard  boss,  and  the  probationer  will  do  one  of 
two  things — reform  or  resign.  He  either  im 
proves  or  discharges  himself.  I  never  discharge 
any  one."  After  a  moment's  pause,  he  went  on: 
"Now  we'll  send  for  Mr.  Horace  Bulger  and  give 
him  some  work  to  do.  He  should  be  able  to  stop 
the  strike  now.  We've  done  him  a  great  favor." 

The  Honorable  Bulger  came  soon,  and  prompt 
ly  the  hand-made  gentleman  gave  him  a  word 
of  advice. 

"You  had  better  stop  this  trouble  in  my 
factory,  if  you  can,"  said  he. 

"What  trouble?" 

"The  trouble  you  started  some  time  ago;  it's 
your  trouble  now.  The  men  have  decided  to 
strike  to-morrow.  You'll  have  to  make  peace, 
or  I'm  defeated  and  you  lose  your  money." 

Mr.  Bulger  rose  with  a  worried  look. 

"Don't  say  a  word  to  them,"  he  whispered; 
"let  me  do  the  talking." 

240 


Pearl's  Old  Mare  Begins  to  Hurry  Us 

Without  further  reply,  Mr.  Bulger  hurried  into 
the  factory.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life  this 
wily,  easy-going  gentleman  had  work  to  do,  and 
it  gave  him  no  rest.  Gaffney  helped  him,  and  he 
kept  the  men  with  us,  although  they  had  gone  so 
far  in  the  way  of  discontent,  upon  which  he  himself 
had  led  them,  that  Mr.  Bulger  was  in  sore  trouble. 

Old  and  new  forces  had  begun  a  conflict  which 
was  to  last  for  half  a  century.  Hand  labor 
versus  machines  became  an  issue  in  the  cam 
paign  of  James  Henry  McCarthy,  and  nearly 
defeated  him.  He  went  to  New  York  and  re 
mained  there  until  Bulger  had  struggled  up  to 
the  convention  with  a  majority  of  two.  When 
the  nomination  was  secure  he  told  us  about  one 
of  the  winning  votes. 

It  had  been  a  stubborn  fight  in  the  town  of 
Edgewood.  The  night  before  the  caucus  he 
knew  that  he  needed  one  vote  to  secure  his  dele 
gate.  A  politician  of  the  name  of  Barber  had 
worked  against  him,  and  spent  a  good  deal  of 
money.  Late  in  the  evening  he  hired  a  horse 
and  drove  to  the  house  of  a  certain  farmer  who 
lived  about  a  mile  from  the  village.  He  had 
learned  that  Barber  had  bought  the  vote  of  this 
man.  The  farmer  let  him  in. 

' '  I  want  to  talk  with  you  and  your  wife  about 
an  important  matter,"  said  he. 
16  241 


The   Hand-Made    Gentleman 

Soon  they  both  sat  beside  him. 

"You  are  supposed  to  be  respectable  people," 
said  Bulger.  "You  have  some  property  and 
two  children,  and  of  course  you'd  like  to  have 
a  good  name." 

The  farmer  agreed. 

"Well,  now,  I've  come  here  to  inform  you  that 
Barber  got  drunk  this  evening,  and  has  been 
telling  down  there  at  the  hotel  that  he  had  bought 
your  vote." 

"Then  don't  you  vote  for  his  candidate,"  said 
the  wife  to  her  husband.  "If  you  do,  everybody 
will  believe  the  story." 

"And  he  voted  for  our  delegate,"  said  Bulger, 
as  he  turned  to  the  hand-made  gentleman. 
"That's  the  kind  of  a  fight  I've  had  on  my 
hands,  but  now  the  worst  is  over." 

"Not  yet,"  said  McCarthy.  "There's  the 
shame  of  such  a  victory,  and  that  will  fall  upon 
me.  I  don't  like  it." 

"Oh,  you're  one  o'  them  high-moral  cusses!" 
said  Mr.  Bulger,  with  a  look  of  contempt. 

Then  said  the  hand-made  gentleman : ' '  My  mor 
als  are  just  high  enough  to  believe  in  fair  play." 

"Well,  you  don't  have  to  answer  for  my  sins," 
Mr.  Bulger  retorted. 

"I'm  not  sure  of  that." 

"You're  in  the  game  of  politics,  young  man," 
242 


Pearl's  Old  Mare  Begins  to  Hurry  Us 

Bulger  went  on.  "You've  got  to  take  it  as  it  is 
or  keep  out.  It's  as  tricky  and  full  o'  bluff  as 
a  game  o'  poker.  I'd  like  to  see  you  make  it 
better.  You'll  have  a  chance  by -and -by;  go 
ahead  and  see  what  you  can  do." 

Well,  there  was  some  mud-flinging  in  the 
campaign,  and  Mr.  McCarthy  was  blamed  for  the 
sins  of  Bulger,  and  came  to  his  honors  by-and- 
by  with  tempered  enthusiasm  and  increased 
humility.  A  certain  newspaper  had  opposed 
him  with  cruel  vindictiveness.  It  told  of  his 
humble  origin,  and  called  him '  'Pegleg  McCarthy" 
and  "the  son  of  a  washwoman"  and  "a  man 
of  vaulting  and  unwarranted  ambitions."  These 
were  the  poisoned  arrows  of  a  rude  time,  and 
they  scarred  the  soul  of  McCarthy  and  helped 
to  make  him  a  fighter. 

Meanwhile  I  sat  one  evening  in  the  shop  with 
Pearl  and  Barker. 

"Mack  is  a  great  boy,"  said  my  old  friend. 
"Sat  here  until  midnight  the  other  evening; 
said  he  hated  politics,  and  wished  he  was  out 
of  it.  I  called  Barker  up,  and  give  him  a  talkin' 
to  right  then  and  there." 

"How  about  the  talented  young  lady?"  I 
inquired. 

"I  don't  believe  he'll  marry  her.  He  ain't 
so  green  as  he  used  to  be — " 

243 


The    Hand-Made    Gentleman 

He  was  interrupted  by  a  rap  at  the  basement 
door.  I  opened  it,  and  four  masked  men  crowded 
over  its  threshold.  I  grappled  with  their  leader, 
for  the  truth  had  flashed  upon  me — they  were 
after  Pearl,  "the  machine  man."  I  fought  like 
a  tiger,  and  stopped  them  for  a  second  there  by 
the  doorway,  and  then  they  stopped  me.  One 
of  them  threw  a  piece  of  iron  and  struck  me  in 
the  face  with  it;  but  I  had  saved  my  friend, 
with  the  help  of  Mr.  Barker,  who  had  seized  one 
by  the  seat  of  his  trousers.  I  came  to  in  a  dash 
of  spray.  A  man  had  fallen  across  my  legs  and 
another  lay  near  me.  I  saw  a  shaft  of  water 
strike  a  third  and  lift  him  off  his  feet  and  hurl 
him  through  the  open  doorway.  He  went  like 
a  leaf  in  the  wind.  A  dash  of  spray  put  out  the 
lamp.  I  scrambled  to  my  feet,  and  stood  to  my 
ankles  in  water.  I  could  hear  the  turbine  pur 
ring  like  a  great  cat.  In  a  second  Pearl's  electric 
lamp,  that  hung  from  the  ceiling,  began  to  glow. 
He  stood  by  the  pen-stock  with  a  big  iron  nozzle 
in  his  hand.  Two  men  lay  near  me.  The  water 
had  struck  like  a  sand-bag,  and  knocked  the 
breath  out  of  them.  They  had  come  to,  and  be 
gun  making  for  the  open  door  on  their  hands 
and  knees. 

"Good-night,  boys,"  said  the  Pearl,  pleasantly; 
"call  again." 


Pearl's  Old  Mare  Begins  to  Hurry  Us 

He  closed  the  door  and  bolted  it,  and  took  his 
pistol  from  a  closet  and  turned  off  the  light. 

"Come  on,"  he  whispered,  "we've  got  to  make 
for  a  doctor." 

At  precisely  that  moment  I  began  to  feel  the 
pain  in  my  nose  and  the  warmth  of  my  own 
blood  on  its  way  to  the  floor.  We  hurried  up  a 
stairway,  and  through  the  long  hall,  and  out  of 
the  front  door. 

"Thanks,  old  boy,"  Pearl  said,  warmly,  as  he 
took  my  arm  in  his,  "you  have  won  further 
promotion  for  meritorious  conduct.  I  make  you 
my  hero  as  well  as  my  friend." 

"I  did  little,"  was  my  answer;  "but  I  should 
like  to  know  what  it  was  that  you  did  to  them." 

"It  was  the  ol'  mare  o'  the  river,"  said  Pearl. 
"I  had  her  fixed  so  I  could  cut  her  loose.  She 
just  h'isted  up  her  hind  legs  an'  threw  'em  into 
every  corner  o'  the  shop.  An'  they  hit  hard. 
Ye  see,  I  was  expectin'  'em.  Had  a  spout  rigged 
at  the  bottom  o'  the  pen-stock  with  a  double 
j'int  in  the  neck  of  it.  The  ol'  mare  jumped 
through  it  an'  raised" — he  checked  himself,  and 
added — "everything  in  reach." 

My  nose  had  been  badly  cut  and  broken,  and 
I  was  a  month  in  the  Albany  hospital  under 
going  repairs,  and  came  out  with  this  battered 
visage.  I  wept  when  I  saw  myself  in  the  mirror. 

245 


The    Hand-Made    Gentleman 

It  was  not  so  very  bad,  you  see,  after  all,  but 
that  day  I  thought  it  bad  enough  to  make  a  dog 
bark  at  me.  I  gave  up  all  thought  of  marriage, 
but — yes,  oh  yes,  dear  child,  I  loved  her  more 
than  ever. 

I  remember  the  day  that  Pearl  came  down 
to  cheer  me  up.  He  put  his  hand  on  my  head 
and  whispered: 

"Don't  worry  about  that,  boy.  It's  your 
medal  of  honor,  and  you  can't  hide  it  under 
your  vest,  either." 

We  learned  that  the  men  had  worse  injuries, 
and  before  a  day  had  passed  their  names  were 
known,  and  within  a  week  they  were  promoted 
to  the  grease  department.  They  had  planned  to 
tar  and  feather  my  friend  and  carry  him  out  of 
the  village  on  a  fence-rail,  and  Pearl  and  his 
"old  mare"  had  exposed  and  kicked  them  out 
of  favor  in  their  own  ranks.  The  working-men 
turned  to  McCarthy,  and  always  stood  by  him 
after  that. 


CHAPTER   III 


THE   GENTLEMAN   DISCOVERS    A   NEW   KIND   OF 
POWER 

REMAINED  at  Rushwater  to  run 
the  shop  while  McCarthy  was  be 
ginning  his  legislative  career.  I 
was  going  about  a  good  deal  look 
ing  after  branches  in  Chicago  and 
New  York.  The  hand-made  gentleman  was  at 
home  and  doing  something  for  Sal  in  the  intervals 
of  adjournment,  but  I  saw  little  of  him.  Two 
or  three  times  in  my  absence  he  called  to  see  my 
mother  and  sister. 

When  I  had  returned  from  a  long  journey, 
one  evening  Sarah  said  to  me: 
"I  have  seen  that  girl." 
".What  girl?" 

"Mr.  McCarthy's  girl — the  one  you  say  he 
loves." 

"Has  she  been  here?" 
"Yes;   and  I  don't  like  her." 
"Why?" 

247 


The    Hand-Made   Gentleman 

"I  don't  believe  she  cares  for  him,  and  she 
ought  to  be  ashamed  of  herself." 

My  sister  turned  away,  her  cheeks  red  with 
indignation. 

"No  woman  has  any  right  to  marry  a  man 
that  she  does  not  love,"  she  went  on.  "Do  you 
really  think  he  cares  for  her?" 

"So  he  told  me." 

"Well,  I  do  hope  she  makes  him  a  good  wife. 
They  are  to  be  married  in  June." 

"In  June!" 

"Yes;  he  spoke  of  it  one  evening  to  mother 
and  me,  and  looked  as  if  he  were  talking  about 
his  funeral." 

"It  may  be  something  has  come  between 
them,"  I  said;  "but  he  will  keep  his  word  if  he 
dies  for  it,  unless — well,  no  sentimental  reason 
would  turn  him." 

"What  a  wonderful  man  he  is!"  said  Sarah; 
and  then  she  brought  my  slippers  to  me,  and 
came  and  sat  on  the  arm  of  my  chair  and  tender 
ly  stroked  my  weary  head. 

"And  what  a  wonderful  sister  you  are,  and 
how  beautiful  you  have  grown!  Some  day  you 
will  be  getting  married." 

"No,"   she   answered,   as   she   put  her  arms 
around  my  neck;    "I  am  going  to  live  with  you 
and  mother,  if  you  will  let  me." 
248 


The  Gentleman   Discovers  a  New  Power 

"There  are  many  fine  young  fellows  who  come 
to  see  her,"  said  my  mother,  who  had  been 
sitting  near  us. 

"But  I  do  not  care  for  them,"  Sarah  answered, 
as  she  rose  and  left  us. 

Meanwhile  the  hand-made  gentleman  was 
changing.  The  legislature  adjourned  in  April, 
and  then  we  saw  much  of  him,  and  the  wear  of 
problems  deeper  than  those  I  shared  had  begun 
to  show  in  his  face.  Moreover,  his  plans  had 
changed. 

"I  shall  need  you  with  me  at  Albany  and 
everywhere,"  he  said,  one  evening  when  we  were 
alone  together  in  the  office.  "There  are  plenty 
of  business  men,  but  there  is  only  one  Jacob 
Heron.  I've  got  another  man  for  the  shop,  and 
you  and  I  will  start  for  Pittsburg  in  a  day  or 
two." 

"For  Pittsburg!" 

"Yes;  they've  asked  me  to  'look  into  the 
subject  of  rails  and  signals,' "  he  went  on.  "The 
superintendent  of  the  Western  Division  of  the 
Pennsylvania  Railroad  is  a  man  of  the  name  of 
Andrew  Carnegie.  He  has  invented  a  block- 
signal  system  to  enable  trains  to  keep  their  speed 
with  safety.  He  knows  more  about  iron  than 
any  other  man  in  the  world,  and  is  the  head  of 
the  Keystone  Bridge  Company. 

249 


The    Hand-Made    Gentleman 

"The  fact  is,  we've  got  to  have  a  new  kind  of 
iron.  Our  rails  are  breaking  down.  They  can't 
stand  up  under  heavy  loads  and  big  engines. 
The  country  will  have  to  poke  along  at  twenty 
miles  an  hour  until  we  can  get  something  better. 
On  our  way  we'll  stop  in  New  York  and  see  the 
Commodore." 

I  began  to  think  of  my  mother  and  sister,  who 
had  come  to  live  with  me  in  Rushwater.  He 
seemed  to  read  my  thoughts,  for  he  added: 

"You  can  take  the  folks  to  Albany  if  you  like. 
They've  never  seen  much  of  city  life;  I'm  sure 
they'd  like  it ;  and,  say,  do  you — do  you  suppose 
they'd  be  willing  to  put  up  with  me  for  a 
boarder?" 

"I'm  sure  they'd  be  glad  to  have  you,"  I  said. 

"Don't  tell  'em  that  I  spoke  of  it,  but  just 
propose  the  thing  and  see  what  they  say.  You 
can  be  frank  with  me.  We  ought  to  know  each 
other  well  enough  for  that.  I'm  afraid  you're 
just  a  little  too  much  inclined  to  please  me." 

"Not  without  provocation,"  I  remarked,  hav 
ing  great  respect  for  him. 

"But  I  want  you  to  find  fault  with  me,"  he 
went  on;  "I'm  far  from  perfect.  Just  remem 
ber  that  I'm  trying  to  improve  myself.  All  that 
I  know  I  picked  up  here  and  there.  If  you  hear 
me  say  anything  that  doesn't  sound  right,  I 
250 


The  Gentleman  Discovers  a  New  Power 

want  you  to  tell  me.  I  want  you  to  look  over  me 
a  little  every  day,  and  tell  me  if  I  dress  and  act 
as  a  gentleman  ought  to.  You've  seen  how  peo 
ple  do  in  New  York." 

"I've  often  thought  that  I  would  speak  to 
you  about  the  color  of  your  neckties,"  I  sug 
gested,  mildly.  "You  seem  to  like  red  as  well  as 
I  do,  but  it  is  not  the  best  form." 

He  turned,  blushing,  and  took  from  his  pocket 
a  twenty-dollar  bill,  and  said:  "I'm  glad  you 
spoke  of  it.  Take  this  and  go  and  get  me  some 
good  ties  in  the  morning.  If  you  see  anything 
that  you  think  I  need,  buy  it ;  my  credit  is  good 
here.  But  there's  another  matter — my  soul  is 
feeling  a  bit  shabby  and  ashamed  of  itself;  it 
needs  a  little  advice." 

"What's  the  trouble?"  I  asked. 

"Well,  I've  found  a  greater  power  than  the 
push  of  steam  or  water  or  electricity.  It  can 
put  them  all  out  of  business — it  could  stop  every 
wheel  in  the  world." 

He  paused,  and  I  looked  into  his  eyes  and 
guessed  his  meaning. 

"It  is  love,  and  it  has  stopped  me,"  he  went 
on — "stopped  me  on  the  brink  of  a  precipice. 
I  don't  know  what  to  do.  I  wish  I  were  some 
body — anybody  but  the  low-bred,  common, 
Pegleg  McCarthy  that  I  am." 

251 


The  Hand-Made  Gentleman 

His  voice  began  to  tremble  a  bit,  and  he  left 
his  chair  and  walked  up  and  down  the  room  in 
silence. 

"Don't  throw  mud  on  yourself,"  I  protested. 
"There  are  plenty  of  us  who  would  like  to  be 
that  same  McCarthy." 

"I'm  not  so  bad,"  he  went  on.  "The  trouble 
is,  I  have  the  pride  of  a  king  in  me  and  the  blood 
of  a  hodman.  But  I  may  do  something  by-and- 
by.  I've  been  reading  about  Lincoln.  He  was 
a  man  of  humble  birth  and  limited  education. 
It  gave  me  hope  for  myself." 

"What's  the  trouble?"  I  asked  again. 

"I  have  met  the  woman  I  love,  and  she  is  not 
Miss  Manning,"  he  continued.  "She  is  a  lady — 
the  sweetest,  dearest  lady  in  the  land,  and  so 
far  above  me  that  we  could  never  be  man  and 
wife.  But  I  love  her.  God!  she  is  more  to  me 
than  all  the  rest  of  the  world.  I  have  nothing 
in  me  but  the  thought  of  her." 

He  turned  away  and  fussed  with  the  papers  on 
his  desk. 

"I  care  no  more  for  business,"  he  continued, 
"and  the  honors  I  had  hoped  for  are  nothing  to 
me  now.  All  my  plans  are  like  the  withered 
stems  of  a  garden  sticking  out  of  the  snow." 

He  strode  up  and  down  the  room  and  stopped 
before  me,  and  something  out  of  the  depths  of 
252 


The  Gentleman  Discovers  a  New  Power 

his  heart  shone  in  his  countenance  and  lifted  him 
to  greatness,  it  seemed  to  me,  so  that  he  saw  his 
way  clearly. 

"I  shall  do  my  work,"  he  said,  solemnly.  "I 
will  do  what  my  God  tells  me  to  do.  I  will  try 
to  be  good  enough  for  her — that  is  something — 
and  I  shall  marry  Miss  Manning." 

"Do  you  think  you  ought  to  do  that  ?"  I  asked. 

"I  have  promised,  and  a  gentleman  keeps  his 
word  unless — unless  there's  some  good  reason 
why  he  shouldn't." 

"I  have  sometimes  thought  that  she  was  not 
the  woman  for  you,"  I  suggested. 

"So  have  I.  Poor  girl!  We're  quick  to 
judge,  and  not  any  of  us  are  perfect.  My  life 
isn't  much;  I'm  glad  to  give  it  for  a  principle." 

"I  know  how  you  feel,"  I  said,  thinking  of 
my  own  troubles.  "But  then  it  may  be  that 
she  doesn't  care  for  you." 

"Well,  I've  got  to  believe  her,  haven't  I?" 

"Yes — if — if  she's  a  lady,"  was  my  answer. 

"Well,  you  see,  I'm  a  pretty  common  fellow 
myself,  and  I  must  treat  other  people  as  I  would 
have  them  treat  me.  Miss  Manning  is  a  good- 
hearted  girl;  she's  had  bad  luck — the  company 
stranded,  and  all  that.  In  the  morning  I  wish 
you  to  go  to  New  York  and  find  her.  She  lives 
at  the  Waverly  Place  Hotel.  I'll  give  you  a 
353 


The  Hand-Made  Gentleman 

check  signed  in  blank.  Get  a  schedule  of  her 
debts,  if  possible;  satisfy  yourself  as  to  the  sum 
she  really  needs  if  it  takes  a  week,  and  make  the 
check  for  any  amount  you  think  best.  When 
you're  ready,  wire  me,  and  I'll  meet  you  and 
we'll  go  on  to  Pittsburg.  One  moment,"  he 
added,  as  I  was  leaving  him,  "you  will  be  apt  to 
find  her  at  home  about  six.  If  she  isn't  there, 
her  maid  will  tell  you  where  she  is,  and  you 
might  look  her  up." 

It  was  a  curious  mission — the  kind  of  duty  one 
would  rarely  delegate  to  another.  Yet,  some 
how,  it  was  characteristic  of  the  gentleman  to 
be  frank  and  businesslike,  even  in  a  matter  of 
benevolence.  But  how  was  I  to  learn  what 
sum  "she  really  needed"? 

I  took  a  train  in  the  morning,  and  about  six 
that  afternoon  called  at  the  rooms  of  Miss  Man 
ning,  in  Waverly  Place.  She  had  gone  to  dine 
at  Delmonico's,  the  maid  told  me. 

Delmonico's!  I  had  heard  of  the  famous  cafe 
and  restaurant,  the  resort  of  the  rich  and  the 
high-born,  where,  it  was  soberly  affirmed,  one 
could  pay,  and  many  had  paid,  as  much  as  ten 
dollars  for  a  dinner.  I  had  plenty  of  money, 
and  a  feeling  of  opulence,  too,  and  decided  that 
I  would  go  and  have  a  look  at  the  place  and  the 
people  and  the  food,  for  I  had  no  notion  that  I 
254 


The  Gentleman  Discovers  a  New  Power 

should  like  the  taste  of  it.  So  I  put  on  my  best 
clothes,  and  walked  down  Broadway,  and  en 
tered  as  boldly  as  if  I  had  been  there  every  day 
of  my  life.  A  young  man  of  the  name  of  Gillette, 
whom  I  remembered  meeting  one  day  at  a  tea- 
party  at  Mrs.  Schermerhorn's,  rose  from  one  of 
the  tables  and  greeted  me.  My  memory  was 
better  than  his,  for  I  recollect  that  he  addressed 
me  as  "Mr.  Horn,"  and  talked  so  volubly  that 
he  gave  me  no  opportunity  of  correcting  him. 
He  had  heard  of  my  injuries,  and  assured  me  of 
his  sorrow,  and  asked  me  to  join  his  dinner 
party  at  a  large,  round  table. 

"I  really  need  you,  old  man,"  he  whispered. 
"You  see,  one  of  my  friends  has  disappointed 
me,  and  there's  an  empty  chair." 

I  accepted  his  kindness,  and  he  presented  me 
as  "Mr.  Horn,"  and  as  "my  old  friend,  Mr. 
Horn,"  so  what  could  I  do  but  accept  the  name 
and  make  the  best  of  it.  Well,  to  my  great  sur 
prise,  one  of  the  ladies  at  the  table  was  Miss 
Manning  herself,  and  a  very  handsome  girl  she 
was.  I  was  about  to  say  that  I  knew  a  friend 
of  hers  when  it  occurred  to  me  that  if  I  did  I 
should  have  to  explain  that  my  name  was  Heron 
and  not  Horn,  and  so  embarrass  the  friendly  Mr. 
Gillette.  I  said  nothing,  therefore,  and  was  soon 
glad  of  my  forbearance. 

255 


The  Hand-Made  Gentleman 

All  were  drinking  freely  save  myself,  and  by- 
and-by  the  conversation  grew  oddly  intimate 
and  the  manners  most  unrestrained.  Miss  Man 
ning  held  the  hand  of  the  young  man  who  sat 
beside  her,  and  spoke  freely  of  her  "angel"  up 
the  State,  who  was  going  to  marry  her;  and  I 
could  not  hold  up  my  head  or  heart  in  the 
midst  of  it,  and  excused  myself  and  left  them 
with  a  kind  of  world-sickness  in  me — the  first 
touch  of  it  that  I  had  known.  Yet,  as  the  friend 
of  a  noble  gentleman,  I  thanked  God  for  it  all, 
and  the  great  soul  of  McCarthy  himself  could 
not  have  felt  a  keener  pity. 

I  telegraphed  to  my  friend  that  I  had  finished 
my  work,  and  next  evening  he  met  me  at  the 
St.  Nicholas.  He  came  into  my  room  and 
pressed  my  hand  eagerly,  and  asked: 

"What's  new?" 

"Nothing,"  I  said;   "it's  a  rather  old  story." 

"You  saw  Miss  Manning?" 

"Yes." 

"And  gave  her  the  check?" 

"No;  I  return  the  check  to  you,"  I  said,  and 
briefly  gave  my  reasons. 

"Heron,  most  any  one  can  obey  orders,  but 

the  man  who  knows  enough  to  disobey  them  to 

save  a  principal  is  above  price,"  he  said,  as  he 

shook  my  hand  again.     "I  couldn't  say  a  word 

256 


The  Gentleman  Discovers  a  New  Power 

of  my  suspicions,  for,  you  know,  one  has  to  be 
careful  not  to  injure  a  lady.  For  fear  of  that  I 
couldn't  bring  myself  to  engage  a  detective  to 
watch  her — it  seemed  so  brutal  and  ruthless  and 
cold-blooded." 

He  turned  away,  and  for  a  moment  neither 
spoke. 

"I  was  sure  that  you  would  know  how  to  do 
the  errand,"  he  added. 

Mr.  McCarthy  drew  a  letter  from  his  pocket 
and  flung  it  on  the  table,  and  said: 

"You  will  understand  me  when  you  have 
read  that." 

I  drew  the  letter  from  the  envelope,  and  read 
as  follows: 

MR.  MCCARTHY, — You  are  being  deceived,  and  I 
write  to  warn  you  about  Miss  Manning.  If  you  or 
any  friend  of  yours  would  go  to  her  hotel  unexpected, 
almost  any  evening  about  dinner-time,  you  could 
learn  where  to  find  her.  I  could  tell  you  many  things, 
but  you  might  as  well  learn  them  for  yourself. 

A  WELL-WISHER. 

"I  think  it  was  written  by  her  maid,"  said 
McCarthy,  as  I  returned  the  letter.  "But  come, 
come,  we  are  due  at  the  Commodore's." 

We  hurried  away,  and  as  we  left  the  inn  I 
could  not  help  thinking  how  cleverly  he  had 
planned  my  errand  of  good- will. 
17  257 


CHAPTER  IV 


IN   WHICH   WE   MEET   TWO   GREAT   MEN 

E  took  an  omnibus,  and  were  pres 
ently  in  the  big  house  on  Wash 
ington  Square. 

"Hello,  young  man!"  said  the 
Commodore,  as  he  took  the  hand 
of  McCarthy.  "Going  out  to  the  stable  to  look 
at  a  sick  horse.  Come  along!" 

He  donned  his  overcoat,  which  had  a  collar  of 
gray  fur  of  about  the  shade  of  his  hair,  and  it 
put  a  wonderful  finish  on  him.  I  never  saw  in 
all  my  life  a  better  figure  of  a  man. 

We  went  with  him  to  a  large  stable  back  of 
the  house.     I  recall  my  wonder  at  its  size  and 
comfort  and  cleanliness,  and  the  splendor  of  its 
many  vehicles  and  trappings.     Yet  it  was  not 
fine  enough  for  the  Commodore,  who,  seeing  a 
wisp  of  straw  on  the  floor  of  the  carriage-room, 
larrupped  the  coachman  with  high  words.     Then 
a  quick,  spoken  command: 
"Bring  out  the  mare!" 
258 


We  Meet  Two  Great  Men 

Out  came  the  mare  in  a  jiffy,  and  Mr.  Vander- 
bilt  looked  into  her  mouth  and  felt  her  throat 
and  legs,  and  said,  presently,  "Take  her  back, 
and  have  her  bled  in  the  morning." 

He  let  down  the  shafts  of  a  light  road- wagon 
and  rolled  it  to  the  middle  of  the  floor. 

"There's  a  good  wagon,"  said  he.  "Take 
hold  of  the  axle  and  heft  it." 

We  did  so,  and  were  surprised  at  the  lightness 
of  the  graceful  thing. 

"Not  much  heavier  than  a  tom-cat,"  said  the 
Commodore,  "and  it  cost  me  ten  thousand  dol 
lars." 

"Ten  thousand  dollars!  Why,  it  cost  as 
much  as  a  house!"  said  Mr.  McCarthy. 

"As  much  as  some  houses,"  the  Commodore 
went  on.  "I  sent  for  a  good  carriage- builder 
and  told  him  to  plan  the  lightest  wagon  that 
would  safely  carry  my  weight.  He  brought  the 
plan  for  a  fifty-eight  pound  wagon  at  fifteen 
hundred  dollars.  "Twon't  do/  says  I.  'Make 
it  just  as  strong  and  five  pounds  lighter  and  I'll 
double  your  pay.'  Well,  he  came  back  by-and- 
by  with  a  plan  for  a  fifty-pound  wagon  for  three 
thousand  dollars.  'That's  the  best  you  can  do, 
is  it?'  says  I.  'Well,'  says  he,  'I  might  get  it 
down  a  few  ounces  if  I  had  time  to  study  the 
problem.'  'Take  time,'  says  I,  'and  I'll  pay 

259 


The  Hand-Made  Gentleman 

you  a  hundred  dollars  an  ounce  for  all  the  weight 
you  can  take  out  of  the  wagon,  but  you  must 
keep  it  as  strong  as  it  is  now.'  He  took  four 
pounds  off  the  weight  of  it,  and  the  saving  cost 
me  sixteen  hundred  dollars  a  pound.  Money  is 
quite  a  stimulant  if  it's  used  right." 

The  gentleman  stood  looking  thoughtfully  at 
the  Commodore.  When  the  story  was  finished 
he  struck  the  air  with  his  hand,  saying: 

"Mr.  Vanderbilt,  that  wagon  is  worth  its 
weight  in  diamonds."  We  looked  into  his  glow 
ing  eyes,  and  he  went  on:  "Let  me  tell  you  why. 
If  brains,  rightly  stimulated,  can  reduce  the 
weight  of  a  road -wagon  without  any  loss  of 
strength,  let's  see  what  they  can  do  with  our 
big,  clumsy  freight  and  passenger  cars.  If  we 
could  take  a  hundred  pounds  off  every  car  in 
the  country,  think  what  it  would  mean.  That 
weight  could  be  turned  from  expense  into  in 
come.  Think  of  the  saving  in  power  and  fuel. 
It  would  mean  millions  of  dollars!" 

"Well,  boy,  go  to  work  on  that  proposition," 
said  the  Commodore.  "I'll  give  you  a  dollar 
for  every  pound  you  save  on  every  car  that  runs 
over  my  tracks.  I  wish  to  God  that  my  boy 
Bill  had  your  push!" 

"You  are  very  kind,  sir,"  said  McCarthy. 

out  for  the  weight  of  your  head,"  Mr. 
260 


We  Meet  Two  Great  Men 

Vanderbilt  continued;  "it's  your  freight-car — 
remember  that — and  you  don't  want  to  carry 
any  sap  in  it.  Let  me  tell  you  a  story:  Bill 
is  a  fat,  good-natured  cuss,  and  wants  to  take  it 
easy,  like  all  boys  with  a  rich  father.  I  told  him 
that  I  wouldn't  have  him  loafing  around,  and 
I  sent  him  down  on  the  farm  and  put  him 
to  work  there,  and  Bill  is  getting  along.  He 
played  a  good  joke  on  me,  and  I've  made  up  my 
mind  that  he'll  do  for  the  railroad  business. 

"He  says  to  me  the  other  day,  'Father,  I  need 
some  manure  for  the  farm.' 

" 'Well,  boy,  how  much  do  you  want?'  I  says. 

"'Seven  or  eight  loads,'  says  he. 

"'How  much  '11  you  pay  a  load?'  says  I. 

"'A  dollar  a  load,'  says  he. 

"'All  right,'  I  says  to  him,  'come  over  to  the 
car-stables  and  get  all  you  need  at  that  figure.' 

"What  do  you  suppose  the  cuss  done  to  me? 
He  come  over  and  got  eight  schooner  loads!" 

Mr.  Vanderbilt  roared  with  laughter. 

'"You're  no  farmer,'  I  says  to  him.     'Come 
right  over  and  learn  the  railroad  business." 

The  Commodore  pushed  the  road-wagon  back 
into  its  corner. 

"On  your  way  to  Pittsburg?"  he  inquired. 

"Yes,  sir,"  Mr.  McCarthy  answered,  with  a 
sly  wink  at  me. 

261 


The  Hand-Made  Gentleman 

"Anything  more  to  say?" 

"No,  sir." 

"That's  good.  It's  a  wise  man  that  knows 
when  he's  said  enough.  Good-night." 

Mr.  McCarthy  and  I  left  to  go  to  our  inn. 

"  'On  your  way  to  Pittsburg?' "  said  the  hand 
made  gentleman,  repeating  the  query  of  the 
Commodore.  "How  did  he  know  that  I  was 
going  to  Pittsburg?" 

"He's  been  at  work  on  your  programme,  per 
haps,"  I  suggested. 

"And  has  a  hand  in  the  affairs  of  the  Central 
system,"  my  friend  went  on.  "That's  his  way 
of  telling  me.  He  has  bought  the  Harlem  and 
Hudson  River  roads,  and  has  the  ring  in  the 
bull's  nose,  and  the  continuous  route  is  now  a 
certainty.  But  we  are  not  to  talk  too  much. 
You  can  make  up  your  mind  that  the  Com 
modore  knows  all  about  us.  I  probably  don't 
say  or  do  much  that  isn't  reported  to  him.  A 
foolish  word  or  two  and  he  would  be  done 
with  me." 

My  friend  went  to  see  Miss  Manning,  but  soon 
joined  me  at  the  inn  and  reported  that  she  was 
not  at  home. 

At  midnight  we  were  on  our  way  to  Philadel 
phia  in  a  draughty  coach.  It  was  an  up-to-date 
train,  equipped  with  the  Miller  platform,  coupler, 

262 


We  Meet  Two  Great  Men 

and  buffer,  which  gave  it  a  continuous  floor 
and  cane-woven  seats,  and  the  trainmen  carried 
the  new  movable  globe  lantern.  The  rails  were 
joined  so  as  to  soften  the  tread  of  the  wheels, 
but  still  the  bang,  bang  of  them  at  the  rails'  ends 
filled  the  train  with  its  clamor.  We  had  brought 
a  couple  of  shawls  with  us,  and  we  used  them  for 
pillows,  and  lay  half  reclining  on  the  hard  seats 
beneath  our  overcoats.  We  slept  a  little  in  spite 
of  the  roaring  wheels  and  rattling  windows  and 
the  shriek  of  the  trainmen  at  all  the  stops  and 
the  snore-streaked,  chilly  silences  that  followed, 
and  rose  stiff  and  sore  at  daybreak  to  wait  for 
the  west-bound  train.  It  was  hard  travel,  but 
far  easier  than  that  of  the  stage-coach,  of  which 
my  mother  had  told  me,  and  in  those  days  it 
seemed  like  the  height  of  luxury.  All  next  day 
and  another  night  we  travelled,  and  Mr.  Car 
negie  met  us  at  the  Pittsburg  depot  at  eight 
o'clock. 

He  was  a  man  of  about  thirty  years,  with  a 
full  brown  beard  and  keen,  gray  eyes  and  an 
alert  and  courteous  manner.  He  showed  us 
through  the  Union  Iron  Mills,  where  they  had 
begun  to  make  and  handle  castings  heavy  as  a 
house  by  steam-power,  and  as  easily  as  a  lady 
swings  her  fan.  There  weapons  for  the  war 
with  distance  were  being  made.  Bones  of  the 

263 


The  Hand-Made  Gentleman 

mountains  were  melting  in  great  heat  and  run 
ning  into  rails  and  beams  to  bridge  the  pathless 
fields  and  the  river  chasms. 

' '  I  want  to  talk  with  you  about  the  rail  prob 
lem,"  said  McCarthy. 

"It's  nearly  solved,"  said  Mr.  Carnegie.  "The 
rail  of  the  future  will  be  made  of  Bessemer  steel. 
It  can  stand  heat  and  cold  and  heavy  pressure. 
We'll  be  making  them  here  as  soon  as  possible. 
I  think  within  a  year  or  two  this  company  will 
be  able  to  fill  your  orders." 

It  was  a  warm  day  in  April,  and  Mr.  McCarthy 
and  I  had  removed  our  coats.  The  city  was 
celebrating  the  surrender  at  Appomattox,  and, 
driving  toward  the  depot,  we  came  into  full 
streets  and  met  a  procession  led  by  cavalry. 

"I  think  we  had  better  get  out  and  take  the 
sidewalk,"  said  Mr.  Carnegie. 

We  left  the  carriage,  and  suddenly  the  gentle 
man  said,  "I  must  go  back  after  my  coat." 

"Why?"  the  other  asked. 

"It  wouldn't  be  polite  for  me  to  walk  in  the 
streets  without  a  coat." 

"Here,  take  mine,"  said  Mr.  Carnegie,  as  he 
removed  his  own,  which  McCarthy  declined. 

It  was  an  odd  exhibit  from  the  old  and  new 
schools  of  gentlemanhood,  of  the  formality  of 
Chesterfield — of  which  Mr.  McCarthy  had  long 

264 


We  Meet  Two  Great  Men 

been  a  student — and  the  simplicity  of  Abraham 
Lincoln. 

"Thank  God,  the  war  is  over,"  said  Mr.  Car 
negie,  as  he  went  on,  "but  the  military  spirit  is 
everywhere,  and  it  will  die  slowly.  I  feel  it 
more  and  more  in  business.  Do  you  know  that 
business  is  beginning  to  be  a  kind  of  warfare  in 
which  victory  is  the  chief  end,  and  all  is  well 
that  leads  to  it?  War  is  a  crime.  It  sanctions 
murder  and  teaches  dishonesty." 

"I  have  felt  the  spirit  you  complain  of,"  said 
the  hand-made  gentleman.  "In  my  business 
there  are  scouts  and  spies,  and  I  have  had  trouble 
in  which  violence  and  threats  of  murder  were 
resorted  to." 

"It's  the  teaching  of  war,  and  battles  of  busi 
ness  are  coming  in  which  blood  will  flow,  and 
the  gun  and  torch  will  play  their  part." 

The  distinguished  railroader  shook  his  head, 
and  his  face  kindled  with  old  Celtic  fire  as  he 
thought  of  war's  iniquity.  He  was  unlike,  and 
yet  very  like,  my  friend  McCarthy.  They  had 
both  gone  through  the  same  hard  school  of 
poverty,  and  with  like  endowments  had  reached 
the  same  high  footing.  A  friendship  began  be 
tween  them  of  much  value  to  both. 

As  we  sat  in  the  office  of  the  young  Scot  he 
explained  his  signal  system,  and  spoke  of  other 

265 


The  Hand-Made  Gentleman 

needs,  especially  of  better  rails  and  road-beds 
and  comfortable  sleeping-cars,  and  the  continu 
ous  trip  to  Chicago.  Both  clearly  foresaw,  in 
part,  the  great  things  which  have  come  to  us. 
I  remember  that  McCarthy  made  me  think  him 
rash  when  he  spoke  of  moving  hotels  that  would 
some  day  convey  one  across  the  continent. 

They  dived  into  the  past  also,  and  began  to 
talk  of  their  boyhood.  We  had  gone  out  to  look 
at  the  new  Woodruff  sleeping-car,  and  dined  and 
returned  to  Mr.  Carnegie's  office,  where  we  spent 
the  evening  together.  I  sat  by  and  listened  to 
the  talk  of  the  others,  and  I  remember  well  how 
it  thrilled  me. 

Carnegie  had  spoken  of  the  war  spirit,  which 
had  begun  to  show  itself  in  business.  The  brave 
ventures  of  these  two  had  in  them  a  touch  of  the 
hazard-loving,  heroic  courage  of  the  soldier.  I 
thought  of  this,  and  yet  I  had  no  suspicion  that 
they  were  to  be  great  generals  in  the  new  war. 
God  had  armed  them  for  the  mighty  struggles 
of  peace.  They  had  learned  that  when  two 
forces  were  joined  something  comes  of  it  vastly 
greater  than  their  sum. 

"I  wish  you  would  help  me  to  account  for 
you,"  said  McCarthy.  "Tell  me  how  you  got 
it  all." 

"Oh,  you  mean  this  stupidity  and  this  luck 
266 


We  Meet  Two  Great  Men 

of  mine,"  said  Carnegie,  with  a  smile.  "It's  a 
good  deal  to  account  for,  but  I'll  try. 

"I  went  into  business  when  I  was  six  years 
old — raised  pigeons  and  rabbits.  Other  boys 
helped  me,  and  were  rewarded  by  having  rabbits 
named  after  them.  My  hero  was  Wallace  Bruce. 
Often  I  had  to  pass  a  graveyard  at  night,  and 
was  a  bit  afraid  of  it.  Then  I  used  to  say  to 
myself  that  Wallace  would  not  be  so  foolish, 
and  went  on  with  a  better  heart  in  me.  In 
many  a  time  of  trouble  I  have  asked  myself  what 
Wallace  would  do,  and  have  tried  to  do  it. 

"We  came  to  America  when  I  was  eleven, 
and  I  began  work  across  the  river,  in  Allegheny 
City,  at  one  dollar  and  twenty  cents  a  week.  You 
know  this  is  a  time  of  business  combinations.  I 
made  one  of  the  first  on  record.  It  was  this 
way:  I  got  to  be  a  messenger  boy  at  two  dollars 
and  a  half  a  week,  and  learned  the  names  of  all 
the  business  firms,  in  their  proper  order,  on  the 
leading  streets.  There  were  four  of  us  who  de 
livered  for  the  telegraph  company,  and  each  got 
ten  cents  when  a  message  took  him  beyond  city 
limits.  There  was  a  contest  between  the  boys 
for  these  messages.  I  got  them  together,  and 
suggested  that  the  extra  fees  be  divided  equally. 
We  made  a  sort  of  pool,  or  trust,  and  never 
quarrelled  again.  You  see,  I  am  at  heart  a 

267 


The  Hand-Made  Gentleman 

peacemaker.  I  have  always  worked  along  that 
line — putting  two  and  two  together,  and  estab 
lishing  harmony  between  them." 

"That  is  what  Lincoln  has  done,"  said 
McCarthy.  "At  last  he  has  brought  the  North. 
and  South  together,  and  begun  to  establish 
harmony." 

"He  is  the  first  gentleman  in  the  world,"  said 
the  other. 

"I  know  he  is  a  very  great  one,"  said  Mc 
Carthy,  "but  I  wish  he  were  a  little  more 
particular  in  his  dress  and  manners.  I  don't 
believe  he's  read  the  Letters  of  Lord  Chester 
field." 

"He  is  the  modern  democratic  gentleman," 
said  Mr.  Carnegie.  "He  has  shown  us  how  little 
dress  and  manners  have  to  do  with  it." 

Mr.  Carnegie  stopped,  for  suddenly  a  man  had 
rushed  in  upon  us. 

"My  God!"  he  sobbed,  as  he  sank  into  a  chair 
with  tears  running  down  his  cheeks,  "Lincoln 
has  been  assassinated!" 

Outside  bells  had  begun  tolling,  and  we  could 
hear  the  running  of  many  feet. 


CHAPTER  V 


THE    FIRST    THROUGH    CARS,    AND    THEIR    BURDEN 
AND    BAPTISM 

E  had  little  heart  for  the  rest  of 
our  business.  The  whole  city  was 
like  the  house  of  mourning.  Shops 
and  mills,  were  closed,  and  the 
street  crowded  with  those  who 
could  neither  sleep  nor  rest  nor  cease  talking. 
Some  wept,  some  prayed,  some  told  of  fearful 
dreams  and  strange  imaginings.  I  heard  men 
declare  that  they  had  seen  blood  dripping  from 
the  flags  just  before  Lincoln  was  shot. 

We  went  to  one  of  the  mines,  and  then  to 
Harrisburg,  and  waited  for  the  funeral  train. 
The  car  which  Mr.  Lincoln  had  used  on  the 
United  States  military  road  was  to  convey  his 
body  to  the  home  he  had  left  long  before  to 
continue  the  work  now  finished. 

The  car  of  the  president  of  the  Baltimore  road, 
with  its  parlor,  bedroom,  dining-room,  and 
kitchen,  was  to  convey  the  family  and  their 

269 


The   Hand-Made  Gentleman 

immediate  friends  to  the  same  destination.  These 
cars  were  to  be  transferred  from  one  road  to  an 
other,  and  rolled  into  Springfield,  Illinois.  As  a 
railroad  enterprise,  it  marked  the  beginning  of 
new  things.  The  train  came  in  a  rain  at  8.30  on  the 
evening  of  April  2ist,  its  cars  and  engine  heavily 
draped.  We  had  telegraphed  for  permission  to 
ride  on  the  pilot  -  engine,  which  was  to  lead 
the  way  north  half  an  hour  ahead  of  the  train. 
About  midnight  word  came  to  us  that  our  re 
quest  would  be  granted.  Next  morning  at  10  the 
bearers  arrived  at  the  depot  with  the  body,  which 
had  been  lying  in  state  at  the  City  Hall  of  Harris- 
burg,  and  the  bearers  conveyed  it  to  the  funeral 
car.  Big  panels  of  plate-glass  in  the  sides  of  this 
car  enabled  one  to  see  the  coffin  from  the  street 
level.  The  engine  had  her  bell  muffled,  and  large 
portraits  of  Lincoln,  draped  with  black  crape 
edged  with  silver  lace,  on  either  side  of  her  cab. 

At  10.30  we  left  on  the  pilot  engine. 

Well,  my  children,  we  began  to  know,  then, 
what  had  happened.  Oh,  it  was  a  wonderful 
thing  to  see  and  feel — the  love  of  millions!  The 
railroad — why,  it  was  a  way  of  sorrow  sprinkled 
with  tears.  North  to  Albany  and  west  to  Spring 
field  the  people  stood  deep  on  either  side  of  the 
long  ironway.  I  saw  them  waiting  patiently 
in  sleet  and  rain,  some  weeping,  some  kneeling 

270 


The  First  Through  Cars 

as  we  passed,  thinking,  no  doubt,  that  he  they 
loved  was  among  us. 

We  left  the  pilot-engine  in  Philadelphia  and 
hurried  to  a  city  on  the  Erie  road,  where  we  had 
work  to  do.  We  reached  Albany  some  days 
later,  about  an  hour  ahead  of  the  funeral  train. 
There  the  beloved  President  was  to  be  taken 
from  the  train  and  borne  to  the  State-House,  so 
that  those  of  the  north  country  might  have  a 
look  at  him.  We  waited  among  tens  of  thou 
sands  gathered  in  the  streets,  and  the  train  came 
at  midnight.  I  shall  never  forget  the  hush  that 
fell  upon  all  as  the  body  passed  in  the  darkness, 
and  the  low,  tremulous  murmur  of  the  crowd. 
It  was  like  the  sound  of  a  great  bass  string  when 
it  is  lightly  touched — it  was  the  note  of  a  people's 
sorrow.  Slowly,  silently,  we  made  our  way  to 
the  State-House.  All  about  us  men  and  women 
were  sobbing,  and  we  said  not  a  word  to  each 
other. 

For  a  moment  my  tears  blinded  me  at  the 
bier,  for  there  by  the  coffin-head  stood  Pearl, 
in  the  uniform  of  a  sergeant,  with  three  medals 
on  his  blue  cape.  A  squad  of  veterans  walled 
the  passage.  Pearl  stood  calm  and  erect,  with 
strange  authority  in  his  scarred  face.  He  was 
the  soldier  again.  A  little  ahead  of  me,  as  I 
walked  in  line,  were  Jo  and  Colonel  Busby.  I 
271 


The    Hand-Made  Gentleman 

saw  the  Colonel  seize  the  hand  of  Pearl  and 
speak  to  him,  but  only  a  word.  I  did  my  best 
to  gain  the  side  of  Jo,  and  failed — there  were  so 
many  between  us.  Soon  I  had  lost  sight  of 
them  in  the  crowd  and  the  darkness  beyond  the 
open  doors.  It  would  all  have  been  different 
maybe — all  in  these  latter  years  of  our  history — 
but  for  those  twenty  feet  or  so  that  lay  between 
us  that  night.  Just  that  little  glimpse  of  her 
face,  ennobled  by  our  common  sorrow,  revived 
my  love  of  her,  and  then  I  knew  that  even  if  I 
lost  her  I  should  never  lose  that.  I  hoped  that 
we  should  find  them  next  day,  and  so  contented 
myself. 

McCarthy  and  I  walked  to  our  inn  together, 
and  talked  of  the  wonderful  things  we  had  seen 
and  of  the  great  captain  of  the  people.  We  had 
read  many  columns  in  the  press  which  had  told 
of  the  gentleness  of  his  heart  and  of  his  sim 
plicity,  which  had  amounted  to  uncouthness  in 
the  view  of  some. 

"The  outside  of  a  man  isn't  of  so  much  im 
portance,  after  all,"  said  my  friend,  as  we  were 
going  to  bed.  "The  gentleman  is  a  lover  of 
men,  and  seeks  not  to  charm  but  only  to  serve 
them.  And  when  he  passes  away  it  is  as  if 
there  were  some  one  dead  in  every  house  that 
knew  him.  Let  us  pray  God  to  help  us." 
272 


The  First  Through  Cars 

We  knelt  by  our  beds  in  silence,  and  so  ended 
one  of  the  saddest  days  in  my  history. 

Next  morning  I  tried  to  find  the  Colonel  and 
Jo,  but  with  no  success.  I  found  Pearl,  soon 
after  dinner,  sitting  on  the  steps  of  an  old  church. 
His  head  rested  on  his  hands ;  his  cheeks  were 
tear-stained. 

"Did  you  know  Mr.  Lincoln?"  I  asked. 

"Yes,"  said  he. 

"Tell  me  about  him,"  I  said,  as  I  sat  down  by 
my  friend. 

"Oh,  you'll  hear  of  that  some  time,"  he  an 
swered.  "I'm  goin'  to  stop  talkin'  and  mournin', 
and  go  back  to  Rushwater  and  get  to  work." 

"Let's  find  McCarthy,"  I  said,  and  we  rose 
and  walked  toward  the  Dele  van  House.  "Last 
night  I  saw  you  shake  hands  with  Colonel 
Busby,"  I  remarked. 

"Yes;  I  knew  the  Colonel  long  ago,  and  we 
met  here  yesterday,"  he  said. 

"Do  you  know  where  they  are  now?" 

"They  left  this  morning  to  make  a  trip  around 
the  world.  She  is  to  be  married  on  their  return. " 

"Married!     To  whom?" 

"I  cannot  tell  you." 

So  it  happened  that  I  gave  up  the  last  dream 
of  my  youth. 

18  273 


CHAPTER  VI 


THE   FIRST   BATTLE    OF    PEACE 

HE  end  of  the  war  was  come,  and 
McCarthy  and  I  felt  a  sense  of 
shame  and  sorrow  that  we  had 
had  no  part  in  it — he,  because  of 
his  wooden  leg;  and  I,  because  of 
those  who  were  dependent  upon  me.  But  soon 
we  were  to  find  ourselves  in  the  first  great  battle 
of  peace,  one  of  those  of  which  the  iron-master 
had  spoken. 

The  States  had  put  aside  their  jealousy,  and 
begun  to  pull  together  in  enterprises  the  like  of 
which  had  never  been  known.  We  were  laying 
iron  rails  across  the  deserts,  and  would  soon  be 
scaling  the  Rockies  with  them.  Engines  had 
climbed  the  Alps  and  swung  in  little  curves, 
hauling  a  forty-ton  train  over  Mont  Cenis  and 
the  Semmering  at  twelve  miles  an  hour.  But 
the  work  we  had  begun  was  vaster  and  more 
difficult. 

It  was  in  January,  1866,  when  we  were  to- 
274 


The  First  Battle  of  Peace 

gether  in  Albany,  that  the  gentleman  said  to  me 
one  day: 

"The  battle  is  on.  I  knew  it  was  coming, 
although  I  haven't  said  anything  about  it.  The 
Central  is  fighting  the  Commodore.  He  has  so 
much  power  in  the  board  that  they're  afraid  of 
him.  In  summer  they've  been  sending  their 
south-bound  freight  by  the  river  boats.  In 
winter,  when  the  river  was  closed,  of  course 
they've  been  glad  to  use  the  Vanderbilt  roads 
to  New  York.  The  Commodore  has  got  ugly, 
and  begun  to  jerk  the  bull  ring." 

"The  bull  ring!"  I  exclaimed. 

"Exactly,"  he  went  on.  "It's  the  middle  of 
January,  and  the  ice  is  a  foot  thick  on  the  Hud 
son,  and,  somehow,  the  Central  freight  doesn't 
move.  They've  begun  to  yell  at  the  Commo 
dore,  and  he  answers,  'Use  the  boats.'  They 
answer,  'The  river  is  frozen.1  He  says,  'Well, 
pull  your  trains  into  Albany  on  time,  and  I'll 
do  my  best  for  you.' 

"Now,  there's  where  he's  got  'em.  They  can't 
get  here  on  time,  and  never  do.  Their  freight 
is  piling  up,  their  passengers  never  make  their 
connections  for  the  South.  The  Commodore's 
trains  used  to  wait,  now  they  leave  promptly  on 
time.  Lately  there's  been  something  the  matter 
with  the  tracks  on  the  east  side  of  the  river,  and 
275 


The   Hand-Made   Gentleman 

Mr.  Vanderbilt's  trains  haven't  been  able  to 
reach  Albany  at  all." 

The  gentleman  paused,  and  began  to  laugh. 

"The  Central  yards  and  storehouses  are  over 
flowing,  patrons  and  stockholders  have  set  up 
a  howl,"  he  went  on. 

"What  does  it  mean?"  I  asked. 

"Progress,"  he  answered.  "God  has  found 
the  will  of  a  Caesar  to  perform  His  wonders. 
When  it's  time  for  a  great  thing  to  be  done,  it's 
done,  and  little  people  have  to  get  out  of  the 
way." 

"But  the  bull  ring  seems  to  me  rather  op 
pressive,"  I  suggested. 

"It  is  oppressive,  and  a  godsend,  too,  when 
the  bull  won't  lead, ' '  said  the  gentleman.  ' '  What 
would  you  do  with  men  like  Richmond  and  Drew  ? 
Would  you  try  to  persuade  them  ?  Suppose,  too, 
there  were  a  lot  of  people  who  expected  you  to 
bribe  them  out  of  the  way?  Why,  in  such  a 
case  we  need  power,  and  it's  down  at  No.  10 
Washington  Square.  In  a  month  Mr.  Vander- 
bilt  will  own  the  Central  lines,  then — " 

The  gentleman  paused,  and  turned  and  looked 
at  me. 

"Why,  it's  the  beginning  of  a  new  emancipa 
tion,"  he  said.  "It  will  break  the  bonds  of 
distance  and  set  us  free.  In  a  few  years  we  shall 
276 


The  First  Battle  of  Peace 

take  our  train  in  New  York  and  leave  it  in  San 
Francisco.  The  desert  plains  will  be  settled  and 
tilled,  and  there  will  be  great  cities  where  there's 
nothing  now  but  gophers  and  wild  sage.  Why, 
in  the  Far  West  there's  land  enough  for  all  the 
oppressed  of  Europe." 

It  was  the  first  time  that  I  had  heard  the 
phrase  now  so  well  worn. 

Within  a  week  new  schedules  were  established, 
and  Central  freight  and  passengers  went  on  with 
out  delay. 

' '  It's  all  settled, ' '  said  McCarthy.  ' '  My  dream 
is  coming  true.  Soon  there'll  be  one  system 
from  New  York  and  Boston  to  Chicago." 

But  things  not  so  cheerful  were  pressing  on 
us.  My  mother  and  sister  and  I  had  taken  a 
small  furnished  house  in  Albany,  and  fitted  up 
a  room  for  the  gentleman,  agreeably  with  his 
own  plan,  for  he  had  been  urgent  in  his  wish  to 
live  with  us.  Months  had  passed,  but  the  room 
was  still  unoccupied.  My  sister  had  made  it 
cosey  and  homelike,  with  the  pretty  arts  of  a 
school-girl. 

"Don't  you  think  it's  lovely?"  she  said  to  me 
one  day. 

"Oh,  it's  a  charming  room!"  I  exclaimed. 

"I  wonder  why  he  doesn't  like  it?" 

"I  think  that  he  does  like  it." 
277 


The    Hand-Made   Gentleman 

"But  he's  only  been  here  once  since  it  was 
ready,"  she  answered.  "Just  one  look  at  that 
room  was  enough  for  him." 

She  turned  away,  and  when  I  went  and  put 
my  arm  around  her  waist  and  kissed  her  I  saw 
that  there  were  tears  in  her  eyes. 

"You  silly  child,"  I  said,  "you  are  fond  of 
him!"  I  had  not  dreamed  of  such  a  thing,  and 
yet  I  ought  to  have  known  it. 

Sarah  began  to  laugh,  and  ran  away  from  me 
and  up-stairs  to  her  room.  The  revelation  wor 
ried  me,  and  that  very  day  I  had  a  talk  with  my 
mother  about  it. 

"Sarah  will  get  over  that,"  said  she.  "All 
boys  and  girls  have  their  little  troubles.  You 
had  yours,  and  have  recovered." 

"Not  yet,"  was  my  answer.  "If  it  takes  hold 
of  her  as  it  took  hold  of  me,  God  pity  her.  I 
shall  not  fall  in  love  again." 

"I'm  sorry  to  hear  you  say  that,"  said  my 
mother.  "Jo  treats  you  very  badly.  Sarah 
had  a  letter  from  her  the  other  day,  and  there 
was  not  a  word  for  you  in  it.  They  are  in  India, 
and  intend  to  stay  there  for  a  year  or  so.  It 
seems  rather  strange  to  me." 

"There's  some  reason — I'm  sure  she  means 
well,"  I  insisted. 

That  evening  McCarthy  and  I  sat  together  in 
278 


The   First  Battle  of  Peace 

his  room  at  the  Delevan  writing  letters  until 
midnight. 

"Speaking  of  the  ring  in  the  bull's  nose,"  he 
said,  "what  do  you  think  of  that?" 

He  passed  me  a  letter  from  a  firm  of  New  York 
lawyers  in  behalf  of  Maud  Isabel  Manning. 
They  demanded  that  he  keep  his  promise  to 
marry  the  young  woman  or  pay  a  "reasonable 
sum"  in  damages.  That  sum  should  be,  in  their 
opinion,  forty  thousand  dollars. 

"I'm  in  an  awful  mess,"  he  said,  as  he  turned 
to  me  with  a  troubled  look  in  his  face.  "There's 
a  quotation  from  Ecclesiastes  that  fits  the  case 
pretty  well : 

"  '  I  find  more  bitter  than  death  the  woman  whose 
heart  is  snares  and  nets,  and  her  hands  as  bands.' 

Jake,  you  know  now  why  I  couldn't  go  and  live 
in  your  house,  with  this  thing  hanging  over  me." 

"I  do  not  quite  understand  you,"  I  said. 

"Why,  as  times  are,  if  I  had  to  pay  that  sum 
of  money  it  would  ruin  me,"  he  declared.  "I 
don't  see  how  I  can  go  to  law  with  them  and 
smirch  myself  and  you  with  scandal,  to  say 
nothing  of  the  girl — " 

"You  needn't  worry  about  her,"  I  interrupted, 
with  a  smile.  "As  to  myself,  I'll  tell  all  I  know 
as  publicly  as  you  please." 

279 


The   Hand-Made  Gentleman 

"I  feel  disgraced  enough  already,"  said  he, 
"but  worse  things  are  coming.  I'm  not  going  to 
lie  down  and  let  them  rob  me.  I  shall  fight  them, 
but  not  with  your  testimony." 

"I  am  your  friend — "  I  began. 

"Wait,"  he  interrupted,  as  he  closed  his  desk. 
"Heron,  I'm  in  love  with  your  sister.  I  have 
never  told  her  or  any  one.  It  may  be  a  hopeless 
love;  but,  you  see,  it  won't  answer  for  you  to 
have  anything  to  do  with  this  case,  and  I  must 
keep  away  from  your  house  until  I  am  done 
with  it.  Your  sister  is  sacred  to  me.  I  must 
keep  her  name  as  far  from  mine  as  possible  until 
I  am  vindicated  and  free." 

Then  James  Henry  McCarthy — a  gentleman 
than  whom  no  knight  of  old  had  better  chivalry 
— shook  my  hand  and  bade  me  good-night. 


CHAPTER  VII 

MCCARTHY'S  FIRST  BATTLE  WITH  SATAN 

HOSE  days  there  were  few  if  any 
bribe  agreements  made  in  Albany. 
Sometimes  a  member  would  find 
money  in  his  mail  from  unnamed 
but  not,  probably,  from  unknown 
sources,  or  now  and  then  a  good  team  or  a  pair 
of  oxen  would  be  delivered  at  his  farm  as  "a 
token  of  regard"  or  "the  tribute  of  admiration." 
But  "the  lobby,"  while  on  its  way,  had  not  yet 
arrived  at  the  capital. 

It  had  been  noised  abroad  that  Vanderbilt  had 
control  of  all  the  great  railroads  in  the  State  ex 
cept  the  Erie,  and  was  likely  soon  to  acquire  that 
— Vanderbilt,  then  worth  forty  million  dollars! 
Clever  and  unscrupulous  men,  who  foresaw  that 
he  would  have  favors  to  ask  of  the  Legislature, 
began  to  hustle  for  seats.  Next  session  a  num 
ber  of  these  came  on  with  credentials,  some  who 
had  failed  of  election  came  also,  and  began  to 

281 


The   Hand-Made  Gentleman 

organize  "the  third  house,"  as  the  lobby  was 
called  later. 

We  spent  the  last  day  or  two  of  every  week  at 
Rushwater  looking  after  the  shop,  which  had  an 
excellent  manager,  and  things  had  gone  well 
with  us.  The  gentleman  had  been  returned  to 
the  legislature  without  a  word  of  opposition, 
and  was  known  far  and  wide  as  the  "cow 
catcher."  He  stood  for  progress,  and  was,  in 
deed,  a  little  in  advance  of  it,  and  pushed  things 
out  of  the  way.  He  was  polite — always  polite — 
but  as  firm  as  iron.  No  word  of  vituperation 
ever  escaped  his  lips,  and  yet  he  had  a  most 
dreaded  and  terrible  gentleness. 

Suddenly,  just  before  the  beginning  of  the 
session,  an  important  man  came  to  us  with  plans 
for  a  bridge  of  vast  proportions  to  span  the  Hud 
son  at  Poughkeepsie.  It  was  a  daring,  a  mag 
nificent,  design  of  the  best  engineers. 

"What  are  you  aiming  at?"  McCarthy  asked. 

The  important  man  explained  the  purpose  of 
the  bridge. 

"I  like  that,"  said  McCarthy.  "Now,  please, 
say  what  you  want  of  me." 

"We  want  you  to  get  the  charter." 

"Are  you  planning  to  spend  any  money  here 
for  that  purpose?"  McCarthy  asked. 

"We'll  lay  out  any  reasonable  sum." 
282 


McCarthy's  First  Battle  with  Satan 

"Then  I  won't  have  a  thing  to  do  with  it — not 
a  thing,"  said  the  gentleman.  "The  legislature 
must  be  kept  clean." 

"We're  willing  to  put  ourselves  in  your  hands 
absolutely,"  said  the  important  man.  "I  hard 
ly  need  say  that  we  should  prefer  to  have  the 
proposition  go  on  its  merits,  but  you  know 
there's  a  new  element  here  which  is  looking  for 
money." 

"And  you  rich  men  with  big  projects  are 
going  to  raise  the  devil  with  us  if  you're  not 
careful,"  said  McCarthy.  "Your  plans  are  so 
vast  and  important  that  you  will  let  nothing 
stand  in  their  way — not  even  the  price  of  a 
thousand  men.  Now,  when  you  begin  to  buy 
votes  you'll  have  more  and  more  of  it  to  do, 
and  by-and-by  Albany  will  be  a  pest-hole." 

"We  feel  that  as  keenly  as  you  do,"  said  the 
other.  ' '  But,  you  know,  those  new  fellows  who 
have  lately  come  here — Joe  and  Ed  and  Sam  and 
Jim  and  Jack,  and  a  score  like  them — they've 
got  a  following,  and  every  day  it  increases. 
Their  plan  is  to  hold  up  the  car  of  progress  and 
demand  our  money." 

"Put  the  matter  in  my  hands,  and  I'll  get 
your  charter,"  said  the  gentleman.  "But  you 
must  agree  not  to  interfere  or  spend  a  cent  of 
money." 

283 


The   Hand-Made    Gentleman 

"We  put  ourselves  in  your  hands  absolutely," 
said  the  important  man. 

"Very  well,  then;  I  want  to  name  three  of  the 
charter  members  of  your  board  and  the  condi 
tions  under  which  that  body  shall  begin  its 
work." 

"I  think  I  can  promise  that." 

"Well,  talk  it  over  with  your  associates,  and 
let  me  have  your  answer  in  black  and  white  as 
soon  as  possible,"  said  the  gentleman. 

The  answer  came  next  day  and  was  all  that 
we  desired,  and  McCarthy  began  a  piece  of  work 
which  deserves  to  be  lifted  out  of  the  limbo  of 
forgotten  things,  for  it  was  the  first  big  battle 
with  Satan  at  the  State  capital.  He  saw  the 
leading  men  in  both  branches  of  the  legislature. 
He  showed  them  the  plans  of  the  great  bridge, 
and  explained  its  purpose  and  made  its  value 
clear.  They  agreed  with  him.  There  seemed  to 
be  nothing  in  our  way.  But  suddenly  there  came 
a  change:  the  air  was  charged  with  opposition, 
and  we  knew  that  Joe  and  Sam  and  Ed  and  Jim, 
and  other  birds  of  their  feather,  had  been  at  work. 

"All  right,"  said  the  gentleman;  "we're  in 
no  hurry.  They'll  get  hungry,  and  come  to  see 
us  one  of  these  days." 

We  had  not  long  to  wait.  One  evening, 
within  a  week,  who  should  call  at  our  room  in 

284 


McCarthy's  First  Battle  with  Satan 

the  Delevan  but  Joe — the  handsome,  smiling, 
good-natured,  witty  captain  of  our  enemies.  He 
was  in  full  dress,  and  his  white  hair  and  imperial 
were  not  the  least  of  his  assets. 

"Thane  of  Glamis  and  Cawdor,"  said  he,  with 
a  smile  and  a  polite  bow,  "you  are  soon  to  be 
king,  and  we  must  all  know  you!" 

"I  had  not  suspected  that  you  were  a  weird 
sister,"  said  McCarthy. 

"I  am  weird  as  the  devil,  but  harmless,"  our 
caller  laughed,  as  he  took  the  chair  that  my 
friend  offered.  "Could  I  see  you  alone  for  five 
minutes?" 

"Certainly,  if  you  wish,"  said  McCarthy. 
"But  first  I  want  to  talk  with  you  about  that 
bridge  project  of  mine.  I'd  thought  of  you  in 
connection  with  the  board  of  management. 
Perhaps  you'd  like  to  be  a  charter  member." 

My  mouth  was  open  with  astonishment.  What 
could  he  be  driving  at?  Was  he  compromising 
with  the  devil  ? 

"I  suppose  the  board  will  have  the  letting  of 
the  contracts?"  our  caller  queried. 

"Yes,  and  many  other  important  powers," 
said  the  gentleman.  "They  want  substantial 
citizens  who  will  work." 

"Sir,  I  am  at  your  service,"  Joe  assured  him, 
with  another  smile. 

285 


The  Hand-Made    Gentleman 

"Have  you  any  one  to  suggest  for  this  board  ?" 
McCarthy  asked. 

"Why,  there's  Jack — what's  the  matter  with 
Jack?"  the  other  queried.  "Then  there's  a  new 
senator  just  elected  from  New  York — a  hustler 
and  a  particular  friend  of  mine,  with  a  silver 
tongue  in  his  head.  He's  a  protege"  of  Tweed — 
stands  for  important  interests,  and  you'll  have 
to  reckon  with  him." 

"What's  his  name?"  was  the  query  of  the 
gentleman. 

' '  Squares — B  onaparte  Squares . ' ' 

I  had  not  heard  of  his  election,  and  could 
scarcely  believe  my  ears. 

"I've  heard  of  him,"  said  the  gentleman.  "I 
believe  he's  a  very  popular  and  promising  man, 
but  I  don't  think  he  will  do.  We  want  men  of 
standing  and  responsibility  if  we  can  get  them. 
The  board  will  be  made  up  of  the  most  sub 
stantial  citizens,  I  tell  you.  It's  no  place 
for  small  fry.  I'll  consider  Jack,  and  perhaps 
you  can  think  of  another  man  as  available." 

"Well,  there's  Jim,"  Joe  suggested. 

"All  right— I'll  consider  Jim." 

That  was  about  the  end  of  the  interview,  and 
within  twenty-four  hours  Joe,  Jack,  and  Jim 
had  received  the  pledge  they  required.  The 
charter  went  through  with  scarcely  a  murmur 

286 


McCarthy's  First  Battle  with  Satan 

of  dissent.     The  appointments  were  duly  made 
according  to  the  plans  of  McCarthy. 

"It's  a  pity  we  had  to  have  those  fellows,"  I 
remarked. 

"Oh,  they  won't  like  the  job,"  said  he,  with 
a  laugh. 

We  were  at  the  first  meeting  of  the  board. 
Every  member  was  present.  The  president 
rapped  for  order  and  said : 

"Gentlemen,  we  have  secured  our  charter, 
and  now  we  have  other  important  work  to  do. 
First,  it  is  my  duty  to  inform  you  that  we  have 
need  of  money  and  not  a  dollar  in  the  treasury. 
I  suggest  that  each  member  of  this  board  lend 
the  sum  of  ten  thousand  dollars  to  the  enter 
prise,  to  provide  a  fund  for  preliminary  ex 
penses,  and  shall  be  glad  to  know  your  pleas 
ure." 

A  motion  was  promptly  made  and  carried,  with 
only  three  dissenting  votes,  which  called  for  that 
sum  from  each.  The  dissenting  votes  were  those 
of  Joe,  Jack,  and  Jim.  Joe  rose,  and  protested 
with  some  feeling. 

"Of  course,  if  any  member  finds  it  a  hard 
ship,"  said  the  president,  "he  is  at  liberty  to 
resign,  but  I  trust  that  all  are  able  to  meet  the 
requirements.  The  money  is  likely  to  be  returned 
within  a  year  from  date." 

287 


The  Hand-Made   Gentleman 

"It  looks  as  if  I  were  left  at  the  pole,"  said 
Joe,  as  he  sat  down. 

That  was  the  last  we  saw  of  the  three  out 
witted  sharpers  in  the  meetings  of  the  bridge 
board. 

Joe  came  to  see  the  gentleman  next  day, 
and  began  his  talk  with  high  words. 

"Did  you  want  something  for  nothing?"  said 
the  latter.  "Did  you  think  I  was  naming  you 
to  pay  for  your  influence  ?  Why,  I  never  bought 
a  vote  or  a  favor  in  my  life,  and  never  will.  I 
told  you  plainly  that  we  wanted  substantial 
citizens  only,  and  that  it  was  no  kettle  for  small 
fish." 

The  other  smiled  politely,  and  took  off  his  hat. 
"I  salute  you,"  he  said.  "I  thought  I  was 
something  of  a  bluffer,  but  you've  raised  me  out 
of  the  game.  Good-day." 

Not  long  after  that  Jim  attacked  the  gentle 
man  with  gross  invective  on  the  floor  of  the 
House.  McCarthy  took  the  floor  in  a  silence  full 
of  friendly  feeling. 

"The  gentleman  alleges  that  I  am  a  liar," 
said  he,  with  calm  dignity.  "Now,  it  may  be 
that  I  have  been  deceiving  myself  and  my  friends, 
but  of  this  I  am  sure,  Mr.  Speaker,  the  gentle 
man  has  forgotten  his  manners,  for  I  take  it  this 
is  no  place  for  the  delivery  of  such  information. 

288 


McCarthy's  First  Battle  with  Satan 

He  has  said  the  like  of  one,  also,  who  can  never 
speak  for  himself  again  in  this  world,  which  is 
the  more  to  be  regretted.  Without  any  dis 
respect  to  him,  I  may  be  permitted  to  doubt 
if  he  holds  a  brief  for  the  judgment  of  the  quick 
and  the  dead." 

His  assailant  never  quite  recovered  from  this 
rebuke,  and  ever  after  was  playfully  called  "the 
Judge." 

McCarthy  had  ceased  to  speak  of  the  gentle 
man  within  himself,  but  even  his  enemies  did  not 
fail  to  acknowledge  and  respect  that  great  thing 
in  him. 


CHAPTER  VIII 


IN    WHICH     WE    TAKE     SUPPER    WITH     THE  '  FIRST 
CAESAR    OF    THE    CORPORATIONS 

HE  next  day,  on  the  steps  of  the 
Capitol,  I  met  the  Hon.  Bonaparte 
Squares,  a  large,  portly,  handsome 
man  with  a  deep,  musical  voice 
and  a  brown  mustache  and  goatee. 
He  seized  my  hand  and  shook  it  warmly. 

"Old  man,"  he  said,  "I've  been  looking  for  you 
ever  since  we  parted  at  Niagara  Falls .    I  heard  you 
were  here,  and  I  want  to  have  a  talk  with  you." 
I  went  aside  with  him. 

"First,"  he  added,  "I  want  to  pay  you  that 
fifty  dollars  with  interest  to  date.  I  couldn't 
find  you  after  the  tight-rope  performance  or  I 
should  have  paid  you  then." 

"Give  me  the  principal,  never  mind  the  in 
terest,"  I  said. 

"I  insist,"  said  he.  "Here  are  seventy-five 
dollars.  Please  forgive  me — the  thing  had 
slipped  my  mind." 

290 


Supper   with    the    Caesar    of  Corporations 

I  took  only  the  fifty  dollars,  and  asked  how 
he  had  prospered. 

"Oh,  I'm  getting  along,"  said  he.  "I  have  a 
good  law  practice  in  New  York  and  a  house  on 
Fifth  Avenue.  When  you  go  to  New  York,  if 
I'm  there,  please  look  me  up." 

I  left  Bony,  for  the  gentleman  was  climbing 
the  steps  and  we  had  much  to  do. 

It  was  the  middle  of  February,  1868.  McCarthy 
was  on  some  of  the  most  important  committees, 
including  Ways  and  Means  and  Railroads,  and 
had  got  his  head  above  the  crowd.  Suddenly 
he  was  called  to  New  York  by  the  Commodore. 

"Come  to  my  house  at  5.30  to-morrow,"  the 
telegram  said. 

McCarthy  wanted  me  to  go  with  him,  and  I 
went.  On  the  way  down  he  told  me  that  any 
day  he  was  likely  to  be  served  with  papers  in  a 
suit  by  the  talented  young  lady. 

"So  far  they've  done  nothing  but  threaten," 
said  he.  "It  may  be  it's  only  a  bluff — an  effort 
to  scare  me.  I  wish  they'd  act  if  they're  going 
to.  Have  you  said  anything  to  Sarah  about 
this?" 

"Not  a  word,"  was  my  answer. 

"Don't,"   said  the  gentleman.     "Above  all, 
don't  let  her  know  that  I  love  her.     If  she  gets 
a  suitable  offer  she  ought  to  accept  it." 
291 


The    Hand-Made   Gentleman 

"I  have  reason  to  believe  that  she  is  fond  of 
you." 

His  lips  trembled  when  he  turned  to  me  and 
said:  "Heron,  if  I  knew  that,  I  should  be  the 
happiest  of  men.  But,  you  know,  these  are  her 
best  days.  She  ought  not  to  wait  for  me." 

We  rode  part  of  the  way  over  steel  rails  at 
fifty  miles  an  hour  in  a  new  "parlor-car,"  which 
the  road  was  trying,  with  a  small  buffet  at  the 
front,  and  where  we  could  be  served  with  fruit 
and  sandwiches  and  tea  and  coffee. 

We  arrived  at  the  Commodore's  ten  minutes 
ahead  of  time.  The  first  Caesar  of  the  corpora 
tions  came  into  the  small  reception-room  to 
greet  us,  his  straight,  columnar  form  neatly  fitted 
with  a  frock  suit  of  black  broadcloth.  His  dig 
nified  face,  his  white  hair  and  choker  gave  him 
the  look  of  an  archbishop. 

"Boy,  I  want  to  talk  with  you  for  five  min 
utes,"  he  said  to  McCarthy.  "Come  up  to  my 
room." 

They  were  gone  about  half  an  hour,  and  on 
their  return  a  clock  on  the  mantel  was  striking 
six. 

"Look  here,  boys,"  said  the  Commodore,  "it's 
six  o'clock;  you  must  come  in  to  supper  with  us." 

"We're  not  dressed  for  company,"  said  the 
gentleman. 

292 


Supper   with    the    Cassar    of  Corporations 

"You're  all  right,"  said  Mr.  Vanderbilt.  "You 
know  where  the  bath-room  is — go  right  up  an' 
wash  if  ye  want  to." 

In  two  or  three  minutes  we  entered  the  par 
lors,  and  were  introduced  to  a  number  of  people ; 
among  whom  was  the  Rev.  Doctor  Deems.  It 
was  a  plainly  furnished  house,  as  things  go  now, 
but  comfortable  and  homelike.  The  pictures 
were  mostly  family  portraits,  the  largest  of  which 
was  one  of  the  Commodore's  mother.  There 
were  models,  in  gold  and  silver,  of  steamships  and 
locomotives  on  the  mantel  in  the  great  front  par 
lor.  We  took  our  seats  at  the  supper- table. 

At  his  best  the  Commodore  was  a  playful  and 
kindly  man.  There  had  been  days  when  he  wore 
his  "railroad  look,"  and  his  words  were  as  thun 
der  and  lightning,  but  now  he  was  like  a  school 
boy.  He  ate  only  Spanish  mackerel  and  a  small 
venison  steak,  and  drank  a  glass  of  champagne 
with  it,  and  meanwhile  said  many  droll  things 
which  have  quite  escaped  my  memory. 

"For  a  man  with  a  war  on  his  hands,  you're 
very  cheerful,"  said  Doctor  Deems. 

"Doctor,  I  never  let  business  interfere  with 
pleasure,"  said  he.  "I've  reversed  the  old  rule; 
my  home  is  for  comfort  and  pleasure,  and  I  keep 
business  out  of  it  except  when  McCarthy  comes." 

Supper  over,  the  ladies  retired,  and  cigars  were 
293 


The  Hand-Made   Gentleman 

passed  to  the  men,  who  remained  for  a  smoke 
with  the  Commodore.  He  smoked  big  cigars, 
and  always  said  that  when  he  gave  up  smoking 
it  would  be  time  to  give  him  up. 

"What  ship  is  that  supposed  to  be?"  the 
minister  asked,  looking  at  the  golden  model  of 
a  ship  trimmed  with  flowers  in  the  centre  of  the 
table. 

"The  Caroline,1"  said  the  Commodore.  "She 
was  my  first  ship,  and  a  beauty — -brass  and 
mahogany  trim,  and  every  comfort — and  when 
she  was  all  ready  I  gave  Delmonico  an  order  for 
the  best  dinner  he  could  get  up.  He  served  it 
in  her  cabin,  down  the  bay,  one  beautiful  after 
noon.  I  had  landed  at  Staten  Island,  and  sent 
for  my  dear  old  mother,  and  showed  her  all  over 
the  ship.  Then  I  h'isted  the  flags,  and  took  her 
into  the  cabin  and  sat  her  down  at  the  table 
opposite  me.  There  were  a  number  of  my 
friends  seated  with  us.  Mother  was  astonished. 
She  looked  around,  and  says: 

"  ' Corneel,  how  the  devil  did  you  do  it?'  " 

"Mr.  Vanderbilt,"  said  Doctor  Deems,  "I'm 
sorry,  but  I  have  to  doubt  your  veracity." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  the  Commodore  de 
manded. 

"Well,"  said  the  Doctor,  "when  you  sit  there 
and  tell  me  that  your  dear  old  Christian  mother 

294 


Supper   with    the    Caesar    of  Corporations 

asked  a  question  like  that,  it  casts  a  doubt  on 
the  whole  story." 

The  Commodore  lowered  his  cigar,  and  said, 
with  a  sad  smile: 

"You're  right,  Doctor,  she  said  it  different — 
no  doubt  o'  that.  I  have  a  miserable  habit  of 
swearing.  Got  it  years  ago,  when  my  office  was 
the  top  of  a  barrel  down  at  the  Battery.  It 
seemed  to  be  necessary  those  days,  and  some 
times  I  thought  it  was  a  help  in  the  steamboat 
business,  but  of  course  it  wasn't.  I  ought  to  be 
ashamed  of  it,  and  I  am.  I'm  like  a  horse  with 
a  hitch  in  his  gait:  it's  bad,  but  you  can't 
blame  the  horse  so  much,  after  all." 

There  was  a  touch  of  greatness  in  his  answer, 
it  seemed  to  me,  and  gave  us  all  a  broader 
charity  for  the  lion  -  mouthed  men  of  that  day, 
and  God  knows  there  were  many  of  them.  A 
young  man  who  sat  with  us  asked  the  Com 
modore  if  he  might  quote  his  answer  to  Doctor 
Deems. 

"Why,  sonny,  I  haven't  the  least  objection," 
said  the  Commodore.  "Everybody  knows  that 
I  swear,  and  they  ought  to  know  why,  if  they 
don't." 

He  was  always  very  frank  in  the  matter  of  his 
faults  and  vices,  and  his  word  for  the  meanest 
thing  in  the  world  was  "sneak." 

295 


The    Hand-Made  Gentleman 

"Would  you  mind  telling  us  the  secret  of  your 
success?"  the  young  man  asked. 

"There's  no  secret  in  success,  boy,"  said  the 
Commodore.  "There's  always  a  secret  in  fail 
ure,  but  not  in  success." 

On  our  way  to  the  St.  Nicholas,  McCarthy 
said  to  me:  "To-morrow  we're  likely  to  see  one 
of  the  greatest  battles  in  history.  It's  between 
the  Commodore  on  one  side,  and  Fisk  and  his 
associates  on  the  other." 

"And  what's  the  prize?"  I  asked. 

"The  Erie  road,"  said  the  gentleman.  "It's 
in  the  hands  of  wreckers  and  pirates  who  are 
cutting  rates,  and  are  likely  to  make  us  all  kinds 
of  trouble.  The  Commodore  is  buying  the 
stock;  it  will  probably  be  cornered  to-morrow. 
I'm  pretty  well  loaded,  and  am  going  to  sell 
everything  but  my  Hudson  River  and  Harlem 
stock  at  the  opening." 

"I  wonder  what  he  wants  of  more  trouble, 
with  all  his  riches,"  I  said.  "He  owns  the  Har 
lem,  the  Hudson  River,  the  Central,  the  Lake 
Shore,  and  a  part  of  the  Michigan  Southern. 
Isn't  that  enough?" 

"But  he  wants  to  build  up  a  great,  impregna 
ble  system,"  said  McCarthy,  "the  one  we've  been 
dreaming  about.  To  be  sure,  he's  got  all  the 
money  he  wants  for  himself  and  his  posterity, 

296 


Supper   with   the    Caesar   of  Corporations 

but  he  keeps  working  and  striving  and  building. 
Don't  you  remember  that  lecture  of  Mr.  Emer 
son's,  in  which  he  spoke  of  man's  love  of  the 
permanent?  It  was  that  love  which  slowly 
raised  the  Egyptian  pyramids  and  the  vast 
cathedrals  of  Europe.  Now  it  is  expressing  it 
self  in  railroad  systems,  and  tunnels  through 
miles  of  mountain  rock,  and  bridges  over  great 
rivers.  We  begin  a  long  task,  and  know  well  that 
we  shall  never  live  to  finish  it ;  yet  we  strive  and 
worry  and  suffer  for  it.  Sometimes  we  give  all 
for  its  sake,  even  our  honor  and  our  heart's 
blood.  Like  patriotism  is  our  love  for  the  per 
manent.  We  must  work  for  those  who  follow 
us.  It's  God's  will.  Now  you  can  understand 
why  Vanderbilt  is  buying  Erie:  it's  more  rock 
for  his  pyramid.  He's  the  great  builder  of  his 
time.  Drew  and  Gould  and  Fisk  are  destroyers ; 
they're  working  for  themselves.  Vanderbilt  is 
working  for  America ;  he  ceased  to  work  for  him 
self  long  ago.  He's  Uncle  Sam  in  flesh  and 
blood,  that's  who  he  is — a  plain,  blunt,  terrible 
fighting-man  who  leads  the  army  of  progress. 
No  angel,  but  square.  He  could  have  robbed 
the  Harlem  bondholders,  but  he  made  them 
hang  on  till  they  got  a  profit.  Next  to  Lincoln 
and  Grant,  he's  the  greatest  man  of  his  time." 


CHAPTER  IX 


THE  SECOND  BATTLE  OF  PEACE 

E  walked  down  Broadway  next 
morning,  and  turned  into  Wall 
Street  some  fifteen  minutes  before 
the  market  opened.  Suddenly  we 
heard  a  shouting  and  the  scamper 
of  many  feet  behind  us.  A  handsome  man  with 
a  young  woman  brilliantly  gowned  was  ap 
proaching,  followed  by  a  crowd  of  newsboys. 
The  man,  who  had  a  reddish-blond  mustache 
and  a  white  carnation  in  his  buttonhole,  was 
laughing  as  he  flung  handfuls  of  coin  into  the 
air,  which  fell  upon  the  scurrying  crowd.  The 
face  and  carriage  of  the  man  were  familiar,  and 
I  wondered  where  I  had  seen  him  before.  We 
entered  a  hallway  and  watched  them  as  they 
passed,  but  my  eyes  saw  only  the  familiar  figure 
of  the  handsome  man. 

"It  was  Maud  Manning,"  said  the  gentleman, 
when  they  passed,  "and  the  man  was  Jim  Fisk, 
'the  Prince  of  Erie.'" 

298 


The  Second  Battle  of  Peace 

"Jim  Fisk!"  I  exclaimed. 

"Jim  Fisk,"  said  he.  "Used  to  peddle  dry 
goods  up  North.  Now  he's  a  millionaire  broker, 
and  the  greatest  rake  and  dandy  of  his  time." 

Then  it  all  came  back  to  me — that  summer 
day  when  I  saw  him  drive  into  Waterville  with 
four  white  horses  and  a  big  red  van,  and  the 
wonderful  lady  at  his  side,  and  how,  later,  I  sold 
my  stock  of  goods  to  him. 

"I  think  that  my  danger  is  passed,"  said 
McCarthy;  "she  has  found  bigger  game." 

That  historic  day  of  February  19,  1868,  had 
begun,  and  yet  none  of  all  those  who  crowded 
the  Street  and  its  offices  before  eleven  o'clock 
knew  what  was  going  on,  save  two,  and  we  had 
just  seen  one  of  them.  Not  even  the  Com 
modore,  who  sat  calmly  smoking  in  his  office  on 
Fourth  Street,  had  any  suspicion  of  the  frightful 
snare  that  lay  before  him  until  midday.  We 
found  him  there  at  two  o'clock.  He  had  in 
vested  some  five  million  dollars  in  Erie  stock 
that  day,  and  held  more,  even,  than  was  author 
ized  by  the  charter  of  the  road. 

"Mr.  Vanderbilt,  it  seems  to  me  that  this  Erie 
stock  comes  very  easy,"  said  the  gentleman. 

The  Commodore  was  wearing  his  railroad  look. 

"Yes;  they're  up  to  their  old  tricks,"  said 
he,  with  an  oath.  "They're  running  a  printing- 

299 


The   Hand-Made   Gentleman 

press.  They've  been  enjoined  from  issuing  more 
stock,  but  they've  no  fear  of  God  or  the  courts." 

"I  do  not  think  that  they  are  printing  new 
stock,"  said  McCarthy,  "nor  do  I  think  that  the 
Erie  Company  is  technically  disobeying  the 
court." 

"What,  then?"  the  Commodore  demanded. 

"Well,  when  the  injunction  was  served  there 
was  probably  a  large  amount  of  stock  all  duly 
signed  and  sealed  in  the  stock-books.  I  have 
reason  to  think  that  Fisk  has  stolen  the  books 
and  put  the  stock  on  the  market." 

The  Commodore  ripped  out  an  oath. 

"I'll  put  'em  behind  the  bars — the  suckers!" 
he  exclaimed,  with  some  vehemence. 

"I  suppose  you'll  stop  buying,"  said  the 
gentleman. 

"Buying!  How  can  I  stop  buying?"  said  Mr. 
Vanderbilt.  "I've  got  to  take  all  the  stock  they 
offer." 

He  turned  away  from  us,  and,  as  we  were  leav 
ing,  added: 

' '  If  you  have  information,  put  it  in  writing  and 
let  me  have  it  to-morrow." 

"I  will,"  said  my  friend. 

"It's  the  most  deadly  trap  I  ever  heard  of," 
said  the  gentleman,  as  we  hurried  away.  "He's 
got  to  keep  buying  the  stock  as  fast  as  they 

300 


The  Second  Battle  of  Peace 

offer  it.  If  he  doesn't,  it  will  go  to  nothing  and 
ruin  about  every  one  in  the  Street,  including 
himself,  for  probably  he's  borrowed  millions  on 
the  stock  as  collateral.  And  the  lower  it  goes 
the  richer  Fisk  and  his  party  will  become,  for 
they  have  sold  it  short ;  and  if  the  Commodore 
holds  it  even  they  will  grow  still  richer,  for  they 
have  only  to  tear  it  out  of  the  book  and  hand  it 
over.  They  have  got  him  between  two  fires,  so 
that  he  has  to  provide  them  with  the  weapons 
for  his  own  destruction.  His  own  fortune  is 
being  hurled  against  him." 

"Why  do  they  wish  to  ruin  him?" 

"Why,  their  only  hope  of  escape  is  in  his  ruin. 
Don't  you  see  that  if  they  bring  him  to  his  knees 
they  have  nothing  to  fear  ?  Otherwise  they  may 
go  to  prison." 

We  walked  in  silence  for  a  moment. 

"I  tell  you,  it's  a  critical  time,"  McCarthy 
went  on.  "The  future  of  our  country  is  in 
volved  in  this  battle." 

"How's  that?" 

"It  will  decide  whether  the  work  of  progress 
shall  be  committed  to  brigands  or  remain  in  the 
hands  of  honest  men.  Our  best  hopes  are  in 
danger." 

He  stopped,  and  looked  at  me  out  of  troubled 
eyes. 

301 


The   Hand-Made   Gentleman 

"God!"  he  exclaimed,  "suppose  they  cripple 
him  and  get  control  of  the  Vanderbilt  roads!  I 
shall  sell  everything  I  can  and  put  the  money  at 
his  disposal.  Good-bye.  I've  got  to  hurry. 
Meet  you  at  the  St.  Nicholas  at  seven." 

So  saying,  he  halted  a  cab  and  hurried  away 
in  it. 

McCarthy  was  only  one  of  many  honest  men 
who  rallied  to  the  support  of  the  Commodore 
that  day.  It  seemed  as  if  God  himself  took  com 
mand  of  their  hearts,  and,  indeed,  I  love  to  think 
so,  foolish  as  I  may  be.  The  forces  of  decency 
and  good  faith  hurried  to  the  field  of  battle. 
The  game  old  fighting-man  stood  bravely  count 
ing  out  his  treasure  until  ten  million  dollars  had 
been  surrendered.  Then  the  artillery  of  the 
courts  began  firing,  and  on  March  I2th  the 
president  of  the  Erie  Railway  and  all  his  di 
rectors,  including  James  Fisk,  Jr.,  Jay  Gould, 
and  Daniel  Drew,  fled  from  New  York  by  night, 
taking  with  them  all  the  books,  papers,  securities, 
and  funds  of  the  company.  They  took  refuge 
in  a  hotel  in  Jersey  City. 

A  well-known  newspaper  printed  this  para 
graph  next  day: 

In  the  suite  of  the  Prince  of  Erie,  who  fled  from 
this  city  last  night,  was  his  friend,  the  well-known  ac 
tress,  Miss  Maud  Isabel  Manning. 

302 


The  Second  Battle  of  Peace 

"Well,  at  last  I'm  free,"  said  McCarthy,  as 
we  read  the  item.  "How  do  you  suppose  I 
learned  about  the  theft  of  the  stock-books  of  the 
Erie  Company?" 

"I've  no  idea." 

' '  It  was  through  that  somebody  who  has  been 
sending  me  anonymous  letters.  For  a  day  or 
two  the  books  were  in  the  rooms  of  Miss  Man 
ning." 

The  gentleman  left  me  to  return  to  his  work 
while  I  went  to  Philadelphia  on  a  special  mission. 
A  week  later  I  finished  my  task  and  returned 
to  Albany,  arriving  there  about  eight  o'clock  in 
the  evening.  To  my  great  surprise,  I  found 
McCarthy  at  our  house.  My  sister  was  in  her 
best  gown,  and  never  looked  lovelier.  She  ran 
to  meet  me,  and  put  her  arms  around  my  neck 
and  gave  me  a  hearty  greeting. 

"You  shall  not  move  another  step  until  you 
have  congratulated  me,"  she  said. 

"On  what — your  looks?  They  were  never 
better  or  happier,"  I  answered. 

"But  I'm  happier  than  I  look,"  she  went  on, 
"for  I  am  to  be  the  wife  of  the  noblest  gentle 
man  in  the  land." 

"It  must  be  McCarthy,"  I  said,  as  I  turned 
to  him. 

"It  is  and  it  isn't,"  said  he.  "But  I'm  glad 
303 


The  Hand-Made  Gentleman 

to  confirm  the  report  that  she's  consented  to 
marry  me." 

"I  congratulate  you  both,"  was  my  answer, 
and  we  were  all  so  happy  then  that  we  just  sat 
down  and  looked  at  one  another  and  laughed 
until  there  were  tears  in  our  eyes. 

"Well,  after  all,  mother,"  I  said,  presently, 
"some  good  has  come  of  that  wretched  journey 
of  mine." 

"All  things  work  together  for  good  if  we  will 
let  them,"  said  she. 

"Then,"  said  the  gentleman,  "there  is  a 
divinity  that  shapes  our  ends,  rough  hew  them 
how  we  may." 

"Yes,"  said  my  mother;  "and  that  divinity 
is  in  our  own  hearts — there's  the  wonderful 
thing  about  it." 


CHAPTER  X 


THE  CONTINUATION  OF  THE  BATTLE 

ATE  in  March  the  astute  captain 
of  the  outlawed  army  established 
headquarters  in  Albany,  and  sought 
the  help  of  the  legislature  to  save 
him  and  his  comrades  from  the 
doom  that  threatened  him.  The  dogs  of  the  law 
were  on  his  trail  and  in  full  cry.  Only  his  inti 
mates  saw  him,  for  he  had  rooms  in  the  Delevan 
with  a  secret  passage  to  the  street.  He  came 
and  went  under  cover  of  darkness  and  the  pro 
tection  of  his  friends.  He  had  millions  of  dollars 
at  his  command.  He  wanted  that  illegal  issue 
of  stock,  which  had  been  forced  upon  Commo 
dore  Vanderbilt,  to  be  investigated  and  indorsed 
and  sanctified  by  the  legislature  itself.  Any 
man  that  required  buying  was  to  be  bought. 

Then  it  was  that  the  third  house  began  its 
career  of  infamy,  and  the  friendship  of  the  gentle 
man  and  the  Commodore  came  to  its  end.  There 
were  buying  and  rebuying  on  both  sides. 
*»  305 


The  Hand-Made  Gentleman 

One  day  a  senator  made  a  fierce  attack  upon 
the  bill.  In  the  midst  of  his  speech  a  note  was 
passed  to  him.  He  glanced  at  it,  and  continued 
his  attack.  Soon  he  veered  about,  saying: 

"But,  gentlemen,  while  this  is  one  side  of  the 
subject,  I  am  glad  to  say  that  there  is  another 
and  a  brighter  one,  to  which  in  fairness  I  must 
invite  your  attention." 

He  went  on  with  many  and  ingenious  argu 
ments  in  favor  of  the  bill. 

It  was  in  the  midst  of  this  struggle  that  Bony 
came  to  me  one  day,  and  said: 

"I  want  a  frank  talk  with  you.  We  have 
eaten  and  slept  together,  and  you  know  me 
pretty  well.  I've  always  kept  my  word  with 
you,  haven't  I?" 

"I've  no  complaint  to  make,"  was  my  answer. 

"Now,  I'm  going  to  be  frank  with  you,"  he 
went  on.  "This  Erie  bill  has  got  to  go  through. 
It's  very  important  to  me.  If  you  can  induce 
McCarthy  to  favor  the  bill,  it  will  be  worth  a 
hundred  thousand  dollars  to  you." 

"Oh,  Bony!  It's  out  of  the  question,"  I  said. 
"He's  against  it,  and  he's  not  for  sale.  You 
couldn't  buy  him  with  all  the  money  in  the 
land." 

"But  he'll  do  anything  for  you,"  said  the 
tempter.  "He's  a  friend  of  yours,  and  they  tell 

306 


The  Continuation  of  the  Battle 

me  he's  stuck  on  your  sister.  All  you've  got  to 
do  is  ask  him  and  your  fortune  is  made.  Old 
Vanderbilt  will  drop  him  one  of  these  days — 
there  isn't  a  colder-blooded  pirate  in  America. 
McCarthy  would  do  better  with  us." 

I  was  dazed  by  the  calm  assurance  of  the 
man  who  stood  before  me.  It  recalled  the  day 
when  he  waved  the  crowd  out  of  our  way  as  we 
were  approaching  the  tent  of  the  rope-walker. 
I  laughed  as  I  looked  at  him,  and  rather  enjoyed 
his  anxiety. 

"You're  barking  up  the  wrong  tree,"  I  said. 
"There's  nothing  in  it  for  you — not  a  thing." 

"Look  here,"  he  said,  "McCarthy  wants 
money — don't  he? — the  same  as  the  rest  of  us. 
Of  course  he  does.  Well,  he  can  make  thousands 
out  of  us  for  every  penny  that  he  gets  out  of  the 
other  side.  Thousands,  old  boy!  I'll  double  his 
fortune  in  a  day — in  a  day,  do  you  understand  ?" 

Again  I  laughed. 

"He  wouldn't  listen  to  you,"  I  said. 
"McCarthy  is  honest." 

"Honest  fiddlesticks!"  he  exclaimed.  "So 
am  I  honest;  so  are  you;  but  we're  going  to  pick 
up  money  when  it  falls  at  our  feet,  aren't  we — 
wads  of  it?  Why,  old  boy,  there's  half  a  mil 
lion  dollars  in  this  thing  for  you  and  me  and 
McCarthy." 

307 


The  Hand-Made  Gentleman 

He  was  almost  on  his  knees  at  my  feet,  and  I 
had  just  enough  of  the  "old  boy"  in  me  to  let 
him  go  on,  and  he  persisted  with  singular 
blindness. 

"Look  here,"  he  continued,  "I've  got  some 
thing  up  my  sleeve.  You're  in  love  with  the 
best  girl  in  this  glorious  land  of  ours.  I  know 
all  about  it,  and,  old  boy,  I  hold  the  key  to  that 
situation — do  you  understand?  It's  in  my 
hand  absolutely.  She's  promised  to  marry  me. 
You  do  as  I  tell  you,  and  I'll  make  the  greatest 
sacrifice  that  one  man  can  make  for  another. 
Now  you  can  judge  how  important  it  is." 

"I'm  surprised  to  hear  you  make  a  proposi 
tion  like  that,"  I  said,  turning  with  disgust. 
"It's  base,  and  unworthy  of  human  lips." 

"Oh,  you've  got  a  grudge  against  me — that's 
what's  the  matter  with  you,"  he  added.  "You 
can't  forget  that  I  won  the  girl  in  spite  of  you." 

"You  didn't  play  fair,"  I  said.  "You  have 
deceived  her  and  her  father." 

"Rats!"  he  exclaimed.  "All  things  are  fair 
in  love  and  war,  aren't  they?  Don't  be  a  fool." 

"Bony,  there  isn't  an  honest  hair  in  your 
head,"  I  answered.  "He's  a  knave  who  isn't 
square  with  the  girl  he  intends  to  marry." 

"All  right,"  said  he.  "I'll  see  McCarthy 
myself  and  leave  you  out  of  it." 

308 


The  Continuation  of  the  Battle 

"You'd  better  keep  away  from  him,"  I  said, 
"or  you'll  get  into  trouble.  We're  against  you 
and  all  men  like  you,  and,  as  to  the  young  lady, 
I  warn  you  now  that  I  shall  do  everything  in 
my  power  to  prevent  the  marriage." 

"Bosh!"  he  hissed,  as  I  was  leaving  him. 

That  night  McCarthy  attended  a  committee 
meeting  at  the  Capitol.  I  had  some  letters  to 
write,  and  remained  in  our  rooms. 

The  gentleman  returned  about  midnight,  hat- 
less  and  dishevelled. 

"What's  the  matter?"  I  asked. 

"Why,  I've  just  had  a  little  argument — that's 
all.  I  was  coming  home  by  my  usual  route; 
the  street  was  deserted;  and  by-and-by  I  came 
to  a  stretch  where  every  light  was  out  for  some 
reason.  I  suppose  the  stage  had  been  set  for 
its  drama.  Suddenly  a  man  approached  me 
from  behind. 

"'Is  this  Mr.  McCarthy?'  he  asked. 

"'It  is,'  I  said. 

"'You  don't  know  me,  and  it  isn't  necessary,' 
he  whispered.  'I  have  a  simple  business  prop 
osition  to  make,  and  all  you  need  to  know 
about  me  is  the  amount  of  my  roll:  I'll  give 
you  a  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  dollars  now 
if  you'll  favor  the  Erie  side  in  this  fight." 

The  gentleman  looked  at  me  and  laughed. 
309 


The  Hand-Made  Gentleman 

"I  can  imagine  your  answer,"  I  said. 

"No,  you  can't,"  said  he.  "It  was  the  most 
telling,  off-hand  effort  of  my  life." 

"You  hit  him  over  the  head,"  I  suggested. 

"  So  I  did ;  and  down  he  went, ' '  said  McCarthy. 
"It  was  brutal,  but  there's  nothing  in  the  books 
to  tell  a  gentleman  how  he  should  act  when  a 
man  tries  to  buy  his  honor."  He  laughed  again, 
and  went  on:  "I  just  followed  my  own  impulse 
and  let  fly.  Sorry  I  lost  my  temper,  but  it's 
done  now.  It's  a  bad  situation  we're  in  here. 
Huge  sums  of  money  are  dangled  before  men, 
and  the  weak  go  down.  The  Commodore  has  to 
hold  up  his  end,  I  suppose.  He's  got  to  beat 
them  or  they'll  ruin  him,  and  then  he  finds  some 
excuse  in  the  great  cause  he  stands  for.  I  don't 
blame  him  so  much,  but  I'm  going  to  keep  out 
of  it  for  a  while.  It's  got  to  be  a  matter  of 
matching  fortunes,  and  I'm  sick  of  it.  By-and- 
by  I'll  step  into  the  firing-line." 

Before  the  skirmishing  ended,  however,  Drew 
deserted  his  camp,  and  the  other  captains  of  the 
enemy  quickly  came  to  terms,  and  the  breach 
in  the  foundations  of  the  house  of  Vanderbilt 
had  been  repaired.  But  the  Commodore  had 
had  enough  of  Erie,  and  decided  "to  let  those 
miserable  suckers  alone." 

The  battle  was  ended. 
310 


The  Continuation  of  the  Battle 

My  friends,  we  may  well  regret  the  evils  that 
came  of  it,  but  I,  for  one,  rejoice  that  a  commercial 
enterprise  involving  the  growth  and  welfare  of 
a  continent  remained  in  the  hands  of  a  builder 
and  fell  not  to  the  kings  and  princes  of  de 
struction. 

For  some  two  weeks  we  saw  nothing  of  Bony, 
and  when  I  met  him  one  day  at  the  entrance  of 
the  Capitol  I  observed  a  red  scar  on  his  forehead. 

To  my  surprise,  he  stopped  and  greeted  me. 

"What's  the  matter?"  I  asked. 

"Oh,  that's  where  a  mule  kicked  me." 

"A  mule!" 

"Yes,  and  I  didn't  know  he  would  kick,"  said 
Bony. 

"All's  fair  in  love  and  war,"  I  quoted. 

"Well,  I'm  not  kicking,"  he  said,  with  a 
smile,  as  we  parted. 


CHAPTER  XI 


AN    UNEXPECTED   MEETING   OF   OLD   FRIENDS 

HAD  seen  Pearl  often  in  hurried 
visits  to  Rushwater,  but  not  since 
the  Erie  war  began.  For  three 
years  he  had  been  hard  at  work 
in  every  department  of  the  grow 
ing  shop  as  superintendent.  Its  voices  had 
turned  from  anger  to  affection;  its  people  loved 
this  man,  for  the  years  had  proved  him.  He 
was  like  a  father  to  them.  I  can  think  of  scores 
of  men  and  women  who  followed  his  counsel  in 
those  days  of  their  youth  and  poverty. 

I  found  him,  soon  after  the  events  I  have  been 
describing,  ill  in  his  room  at  Rushwater.  His 
eyes  had  been  failing;  one  of  his  old  wounds, 
which  had  cut  deep  into  his  head,  was  giving 
him  sore  trouble  and  affecting  his  sight.  I  was 
grieved  to  learn  that  he  could  scarcely  see  me. 
A  young  man  from  the  shop  was  taking  care  of 
him. 

I  had  been  thinking  of  my  gains,  and  they 
312 


An  Unexpected  Meeting  of  Old  Friends 

were  large,  for  McCarthy  had  been  kind  and 
generous,  and  I  was  to  have  one  of  the  highest 
offices  in  the  gift  of  the  State.  But  now,  as  I 
saw  the  failing  of  my  old  friend,  I  began  to  think 
of  my  losses,  and  was  sorry — sorry  that  I  had 
missed  so  much  of  the  companionship  and  counsel 
of  one  of  the  greatest  men  I  ever  knew. 

"I've  missed  you,  Jake,  I've  missed  you,"  he 
said,  with  trembling  lips,  as  he  held  my  hand 
in  his. 

I  would  have  given  it  all  then — all  the  money 
and  the  honor  which  had  been  mine — for  that  I 
had  lost,  and  I  have  never  changed  my  mind 
about  it. 

"My  friend  and  fellow-citizen,"  said  he,  cheer 
fully,  after  a  moment,  "the  Committee  on  Love 
and  Marriage  will  now  report.  Has  your  heart 
changed,  old  boy?  Do  you  still  think  of  Jo?" 

"As  much  as  ever,"  I  said.  "Strange  how  it 
clings  to  me!" 

"It's  the  real  old-fashioned  thing,  an'  rare  as 
gold,"  said  he.  "I  know  what  'tis." 

"I  shall  never  marry,"  I  said. 

"Yes,  you  will,"  said  he,  with  confidence. 

"Why  do  you  think  so?" 

"Because  she  loves  you — that's  why." 

"But  you  told  me  that  she  was  going  to  be 
married  on  their  return." 


The  Hand-Made  Gentleman 

"So  she  is;  and  to  you,  old  boy.  You  didn't 
understand  me,  did  ye?" 

"No." 

"Wai,  I  didn't  want  ye  to.  I  see  that  Squares 
had  made  himself  solid  with  the  Colonel.  Squares 
had  prospered,  and  won  the  friendship  of  grand 
folks.  Squares  had  flattered  the  old  man  and 
spent  loads  of  money  on  him.  The  Colonel  was 
bound  to  have  Jo  marry  Squares.  I  told  her 
to  take  her  father  out  of  the  country  and  stay 
until  I  sent  for  her.  He  was  drinking  badly,  and, 
anyhow,  I  thought  it  would  do  him  good  to  get 
away  from  his  old  friends.  Jo  and  he  made  a 
kind  of  treaty:  he  promised  not  to  write  to  Bony, 
and  she  promised  not  to  write  to  you. 

"The  Colonel  wanted  to  travel,  and  Jo  had 
plenty  of  money — her  grandfather  left  her  his 
fortune.  They  stayed  a  year  in  England,  where 
Busby  was  born,  and  were  three  years  in  Italy, 
India,  and  Australia.  She  wrote  me  that  she'd 
spent  the  time  in  study,  and  felt  sure  that  you 
wouldn't  be  ashamed  of  her.  Why,  Jake,  she's 
never  forgotten  ye  fer  a  minute!  She  was  anx 
ious  to  know  whether  your  love  would  last  or 
not,  and  made  me  promise  to  report  to  her  every 
month,  and  I  did.  They've  heard  all  the  news 
about  you  and  all  the  news  about  Bony." 

"Where  are  they  now?" 


An  Unexpected  Meeting  of  Old  Friends 

"On  their  way  to  Rushwater,"  said  Pearl. 
"They'll  be  here  in  this  room  at  eight  o'clock 
to-night." 

I  met  McCarthy  in  the  office  of  the  shop,  and 
when  our  work  was  finished  we  went  to  Pearl's 
room.  It  was  7.30,  and  I  paced  up  and  down, 
feeling  the  slowness  of  the  clock -hands,  while 
the  gentleman  sat  by  the  bedside  talking  with 
our  friend.  Suddenly  there  came  a  loud  rap  at 
the  door.  McCarthy  opened  it,  and  in  stepped 
the  Colonel,  erect  as  a  statue,  with  his  gold- 
headed  cane  in  one  hand  and  his  shiny  silk  hat 
in  the  other.  He  was  magnificent  in  a  frock 
suit  and  silken  waistcoat.  He  bowed  and 
stepped  lightly  to  the  middle  of  the  floor,  and 
stopped  as  he  saw  Pearl  lying  on  the  bed.  He 
gave  me  his  hat  and  cane,  and  put  his  arms 
around  the  shoulders  of  the  sick  man. 

"Old  friend,  I  love  you — I  love  you!"  he  said. 

The  Colonel  turned  with  streaming  eyes,  and 
in  a  moment  said  to  us:  "My  God,  gentlemen, 
here  is  old  Pearl  Brown,  the  bravest  man  since 
Julius  Caesar!  There  is  not  one  of  us  that's  good 
enough  to  black  his  boots.  I  saw  him  lead  a 
charge  at  Bull  Run  when  the  bullets  were  trim 
ming  him  and  cutting  his  coat  to  rags;  but  he 
didn't  mind.  He  went  right  on — the  bloodiest 
thing  that  ever  stood  on  foot.  Went  right  over 


The    Hand-Made   Gentleman 

the  works  of  the  enemy,  and  hit  a  gunner  on  the 
head  with  his  flag-staff. 

"When  we  picked  him  up  his  clothes  were  red, 
and  one  arm  was  dangling. 

"'Boys,'  he  whispered,  'they  shot  my  head 
off  back  there  in  the  field  somewhere.  I  saw  it 
fall  on  the  ground,  an'  I  picked  it  up  an'  ran  like 
the  devil  with  it  under  my  arm  until  I  got  here. 
It's  right  here  beside  me,  an'  I  wish  you'd  bring 
it  along — might  need  it  some  day.' 

"When  he  lay  sick  in  the  hospital,  Lincoln 
went  to  see  him,  and  pinned  a  medal  on  his 
breast."  The  Colonel  paused. 

My  dear  old  friend  lay  calmly  holding  the 
hand  of  Colonel  Busby. 

"I'm  not  to  blame  for  it,"  he  said,  presently. 
' '  I  didn't  know  what  I  was  doin'  after  that  piece 
o'  shell  hit  me.  I  thought  I  saw  my  head  on 
the  ground,  an'  that  I  picked  it  up  and  ran  as 
hard  as  I  could,  for  I  heard  you  fellows  comin' 
an'  thought  you'd  get  it  away.  I  forgot  the 
enemy,  an'  was  just  runnin'  to  save  my  head. 
I  struck  that  gunner  because  I  thought  he  would 
take  it  away  from  me.  Here  is  a  braver  man 
than  I  am." 

He  took  my  hand  and  drew  me  near  him,  and 
added:  "Look  at  the  scars  on  his  face;  they're 
a  better  badge  than  I  have.  Took  that  blow  to 
316 


An  Unexpected  Meeting  of  Old  Friends 

save  me.  Do  you  remember  him,  Colonel  ?  You 
used  to  know  him  as  Cricket  Heron." 

"To  be  sure,"  said  the  Colonel;  "but  I  would 
not  have  known  him,  he's  grown  so  big  and 
tall.  If  he  is  your  friend,  he  is  mine.  Excuse 
me,  I'm  going  to  get  Jo;  she's  over  at  the  inn. 
Perhaps  you'll  have  the  kindness  to  go  and  fetch 
her,"  he  added,  turning  to  McCarthy. 

They  came  in  five  minutes,  the  gentleman  and 
Jo,  and  never  have  I  seen  the  like  of  her.  She 
was  twenty-four  past  that  day,  and  stood  tall 
and  erect,  with  glowing  cheeks  and  eyes,  in  the 
full  splendor  of  her  young  womanhood.  I  was 
ashamed  to  show  my  scarred  face  to  her,  and  yet 
I  would  have  travelled  half  my  life  to  do  it  and 
know  what  she  would  say.  She  could  not  hide 
her  joy,  nor  I  mine.  Our  eyes  filled  as  we  greeted 
each  other,  and,  somehow,  I  felt  the  truth  in  her 
little  right  hand — that  she  loved  me. 

Pearl  made  me  blush  with  praise,  and  when  I 
tried  to  disclaim  the  credit  which  he  put  upon 
me — knowing  how  small  a  thing  it  was — Jo 
commanded  me  to  be  silent,  and  said  that  I  had 
no  right  to  belittle  her  pride  in  a  friend.  The 
Colonel  rose  and  stood  erect,  and  stroked  his 
white  imperial. 

"Attention!"  he  commanded,  with  that  fine 
military  manner  of  his.  "Heron,  old  boy,"  he 


The    Hand-Made    Gentleman 

went  on,  as  he  touched  his  forelock  and  swung 
his  hand  in  the  air,  "I  salute  you,  and  apologize 
for  all  the  indignities  of  the  past;  and,  dear 
friends,  while  we  are  giving  out  the  medals  of 
honor,  I  would  respectfully  invite  your  attention 
to  this  young  lady.  She  is  the  greatest  of  all 
women — the  dearest  daughter  in  the  land." 

He  turned  to  me,  and  continued:  "You  will 
remember,  sir,  my  fondness  for  the  flowing  bowl 
and  my  many  follies,  which  I  would  blush  to 
mention.  She — she,  sir,  with  the  tenderness  of 
true  womanhood,  with  the  love  that  passeth  all 
understanding,  has  lifted  me  up  and  made  a  man 
of  me." 

The  Colonel  was  interrupted  by  applause,  led 
by  the  gentleman,  who  rose  and  said: 

"Mr.  Chairman,  I  move  that  we  give  the 
young  lady  a  vote  of  love  and  honor,  and  that 
we  recommend  her  for  promotion  from  daughter 
to  wife,  with  the  title  of  Mrs.  and  the  rank  of  a 
great-hearted  woman,  as  soon  as  we  can  find  a 
man  worthy  of  her.  Greater  than  the  man  of 
the  sword  is  the  heroine  of  the  home  who  has 
subdued  its  enemies  with  the  strong  hand  of  love. ' ' 

"I  second  the  motion,"  said  Pearl. 

"Question,"  I  urged. 

The  Colonel  bowed  low,  and  in  look,  word,  and 
manner  rose  to  greatness,  it  seemed  to  me. 
318 


An  Unexpected  Meeting  of  Old  Friends 

"Those  in  favor  will  salute  her  with  a  kiss," 
said  the  old  gentleman,  as  he  embraced  his 
daughter. 

Then  he  led  her  to  Pearl,  who  recorded  his 
vote,  after  which  he  pinned  one  of  his  medals  on 
her  waist,  and  then  the  hand-made  gentleman 
supported  the  motion.  It  was  my  turn  next. 

She  laughed  and  turned  away  from  me,  her 
cheeks  red  as  roses.  Then  she  ran  to  the  corner 
of  the  room,  and  hid  her  face  in  her  handkerchief 
and  cried  a  little,  and  I  stole  up  and  kissed  her 
cheek  and  led  her  back  to  her  chair,  and  every 
man  of  us  had  wet  eyes  for  some  reason. 

"Now,"  said  the  Colonel,  cheerfully,  as  he 
rose  and  went  to  the  fireplace,  "with  your  kind 
indulgence,  I  will  sing  you  a  song." 

He  sang  an  old  lyric  entitled  The  Man  of  Scars, 
pointing  at  Pearl  and  me  as  he  roared  along,  and, 
really,  it  took  all  the  shame  out  of  me  which 
had  come  of  my  injured  looks.  I  sat  down  by 
her,  and  we  had  a  little  talk  of  "old  times,"  as 
we  called  them. 

Some  one  spoke  of  Bony. 

"By  the  blood  of  the  martyrs,"  said  Colonel 
Busby,  "  he  hasn't  a  scar  on  his  body,  and  never 
will  have  unless  he  meets  with  an  accident!" 

"Which  he  has  done,"  said  the  Pearl  of  great 
price,  as  he  smiled  at  McCarthy. 


The   Hand-Made   Gentleman 

"I  think  we'd  better  go,"  said  the  gentleman. 
"I'm  afraid  that  our  dear  friend  on  the  bed  there 
is  growing  weary." 

We  shook  his  hand  and  bade  him  good-night, 
and  then  McCarthy  and  I  walked  to  the  inn  with 
Jo  and  the  Colonel.  They  were  to  start  for 
Merrifield  at  six  o'clock  in  the  morning. 

"You  should  see  our  shop  before  you  leave 
here,"  I  said. 

"You  take  my  father  to  see  the  shop,  and  I'll 
try  to  entertain  Mr.  McCarthy  while  you're  gone," 
she  suggested. 

The  Colonel  and  I  went  together  to  the  shop, 
then  running  night  and  day.  We  tramped 
through  its  long,  busy  floors,  and  by-and-by  sat 
down,  with  our  cigars,  in  the  office. 

"My  friend,"  said  the  Colonel,  presently,  "I 
should  be  proud  to  have  you  visit  me  at  Merri 
field." 

"That  cannot  be,"  I  said,  "until  I  have  your 
permission  to  propose  to  Jo." 

"Heron,  I've  been  a  fool,"  he  said.  "I  hate 
to  confess,  but  I  can't  help  it,  and  then  it  doesn't 
matter  much,  for  the  fact  is  generally  known. 
Forgive  me,  sir,  and,  believe  me,  I  should  be  proud 
to  have  you  for  a  son-in-law." 

We  returned  to  the  inn. 

"Mr.  McCarthy  has  been  telling  me  about  his 
320 


An  Unexpected  Meeting  of  Old  Friends 

stables,"  said  Jo  to  her  father.  "Perhaps  he 
would  be  kind  enough  to  show  them  to  you." 

"Glad  to  take  you  there,"  said  the  gentle 
man,  as  he  went  away  with  the  Colonel. 

"Did  he  invite  you  to  Merrifield?"  Jo  asked. 

"Yes,  and  more.     He  has  consented — " 

"Merrifield  is  delightful,"  she  interrupted. 
' '  We  live  in  the  old  house  that  was  built  by  my 
grandfather.  I've  always  said  that  if  I  ever 
had  the  luck  to  be  engaged  and  married,  I'd  like 
it  all  to  happen  there." 

I  took  her  hand  and  said:  "Look  here,  young 
lady,  I've  made  up  my  mind  that  I  shall  turn  the 
key  in  that  door  and  keep  you  a  prisoner  until 
you've  promised  to  marry  me.  You've  estab 
lished  a  sort  of  precedent  in  your  treatment  of 
poor  Sam — don't  you  remember  it?" 

"Dear  old  Sam!"  she  exclaimed.  "I  couldn't 
have  forgotten  you  if  I  had  tried.  He  was 
forever  talking  about  you,  and  to  every  letter 
he  added  a  postscript,  which  contained  the  last 
news  of  C.  H.  He's  watched  your  career  very 
closely." 

I  sat  down  by  her  side,  and  drew  her  close 
to  me. 

"I  really  cannot  wait,"  I  said. 

"Nor  I,"  she  whispered;  and  then  I  felt  her 
soul  in  her  lips,  and  I  need  say  no  more  of  that 

21  321 


The  Hand-Made  Gentleman 

day,  best  of  these  many  of  which  I  have  tried 
to  tefl  you,  save  this:  Jo  and  her  father  prom 
ised  to  delay  their  home-going  to  meet  my 
mother  and  sister,  who  would  be  with  us  in  the 

mi  i ".  j. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  STORY  OP  AN   L  *i  SuSMtCtKi)  HESO 


ROSE  earfy  and  met  my  dear 
friends,  and  told  them  the  news, 
and  received  their  congratulations. 
Then  I  told  of  Pearl's  illness,  and 
at  my  mother's  request  took  them 
with  me  to  his  room.  We  entered  on  tiptoes. 
He  was  stroking  the  ear  of  his  old  dog,  who  lay 
by  his  bedside.  His  "jacket"  hung  on  a  chair, 
turned  wrong  side  out,  within  reach  of  his  hand, 
the  medals  pinned  to  its  lining. 

"Happy  New  Year!"  he  exclaimed,  cheerfully, 
as  he  took  my  hand.  "I've  got  to  tell  ye  the 
truth  now.  My  name  is  Brown — Henry  Marhia« 
Pearl  Brown,  full- jewelled  and  a  yard  wide.  I 
confess  and  throw  myself  on  your  mercy.  I've 
lied  like  the  devil.  Do  you  blame  me?" 

"It's  the  man  and  not  the  name  that's  im 
portant,"  I  sakL 

"It's  a  long  story,  but  111  make  it  short,"  he 
went  on.  "When  I  was  a  boy  my  father  moved 
west — settled  in  northern  New  York.  There  I 


The   Hand-Made   Gentleman 

fell  in  love  with  a  lily  of  a  girl — oh,  she  was  won 
derful!  I  couldn't  make  up  my  mind  that  I  was 
good  enough  for  her.  The  minister  used  to  tell 
us  that  we  were  all  a  lot  o'  worms,  an'  we  be 
lieved  it,  but  I  thought  she  was  the  one  great 
exception.  I  recollect  that  old  text: 

"'  .  .  .  The  stars  are  not  pure  in  His  sight;  how 
much  less  man,  that  is  a  worm.' 

When  I  met  an  angel  I  naturally  hesitated 
about  offerin'  her  a  worm.  It  didn't  seem  to 
me  much  of  a  compliment.  Oh,  I  tell  ye,  we 
had  to  look  out  for  the  early  birds!  Ye  see, 
the  worm  referred  to  was  a  caterpillar,  and  the 
minister  didn't  tell  us  about  the  butterfly.  I 
tried  every  way  to  improve  myself,  but  I  waited 
too  long.  She  married  another  an'  a  better 
man.  I  went  away  to  the  war,  got  my  face  all 
scrambled  up  by  a  piece  o'  shell,  an'  crawled  into 
a  lot  o'  bushes  to  die.  I  lay  there  an'  kicked  till 
my  feet  made  a  hole  in  the  ground,  but  I  didn't 
know  what  I  was  doin'.  By-an'-by  I  felt  suthin' 
pinchin'  my  hand.  Seemed  so  'twouldn't  let 
me  die;  kep'  a  nippin'  away  till  I  raised  my 
head.  I  could  see  a  little  out  o'  one  eye,  an' 
there  was  an'  ol'  settin'  hen  with  her  nest  hid  in 
the  bushes,  an'  she  was  peckin'  my  hand.  She 
gave  me  a  cuff  with  her  wings,  an'  told  me  t'  git 
324 


The  Story  of  An  Unsuspected  Hero 

up  an*  go  on  'bout  my  business,  an'  I  did — 
crawled  out  on  my  hands  an'  knees,  an'  they 
found  me  an'  patched  me  up.  I  felt  all  right, 
but  I  had  this  face  on  me.  Come  north,  an' 
behaved  'bout  as  bad  as  I  knew  how.  Got  'shamed 
o'  my  character  as  well  as  my  face,  so  I  dropped 
Brown,  for  that  was  the  name  o'  my  father,  an' 
no  better  man  ever  lived.  When  I  met  you,  Jake, 
I  was  nigh  the  end  o'  my  rope.  You  made  a  man 
o'  me.  You  was  her  boy — that's  the  reason." 

His  voice  broke,  and  he  pressed  my  hand  to 
his  lips. 

My  mother  came  and  stood  beside  me  with 
streaming  eyes,  and  said: 

"Henry  Brown,  I  am  Anne  Jones." 

"Anne  Jones,  come  here,"  he  said. 

He  felt  her  wrinkled  forehead  and  her  white 
hair  with  his  hand.  He  seemed  to  be  vainly 
trying  to  see  her  face.  He  was  like  one  looking 
far  away.  ' '  Oh,  I  can  see  you !"  he  said.  ' '  Hair 
as  yellow  as  a  corn-tassel,  an'  blue  eyes  an'  cheeks 
as  red  as  roses,  an'  feet  like  a  fawn's.  You  are 
beautiful,  an'  I  love  you,  Anne,  I  love  you. 
I've  wanted  to  tell  you — these  forty  years." 

It  may  be  that  she  loved  him,  also,  for  she 
never  left  his  side  until  one  June  day,  more  than 
a  month  later,  we  saw  for  the  last  time  this 
modest,  gentle,  unknown  hero  of  war  and  peace. 

325 


CHAPTER  XIII 


PEACE 

HERE  was  a  double  wedding  at 
Merrifield  in  September,  and,  next 
to  McCarthy  and  myself,  the  hap 
piest  man   there  was   Sam,  who 
shook  my  hand  before  the  ceremony 
to  give  me  courage,  and  spoke  a  cheering  word. 
"You'll  be  glad  you  done  it  when  it's  all  over," 
he  said. 

So  glad  have  I  ever  been  that  I  hold  my  peace 
when  I  think  of  that  day  and  of  her,  the  dearest 
blessing  of  my  life.  There  are  things  wilich  had 
better  be  let  alone,  even  though  one  had  the 
tongue  of  an  angel.  Such  is  that  sense  of  pride 
and  joy  that  came  to  me  when  I  put  my  arms 
around  her,  and  knew  that  she  was  mine  at  last. 
And,  after  all,  the  loves  and  marriages  of  the 
gentleman  and  myself  are  only  small  incidents  of 
our  history,  which  has  to  do  with  the  loves  and 
marriages  of  commerce,  and  there  is  yet  a  little 
to  be  added. 

326 


Peace 

We  went  to  Saratoga  on  our  wedding  journey. 
The  day  we  arrived  I  met  my  old  friend  Swipes 
in  the  office  of  the  Grand  Union  Hotel.  He  was 
cashier  in  the  great  gambling-house  of  John 
Morrissey.  He  told  me  that  Bony  had  lost 
fifty  thousand  dollars  in  play  the  night  be 
fore. 

' ' It  broke  him,"  said  Swipes.  "He  had  to  bor 
row  a  hundred  dollars  from  the  old  man." 

That  very  day  I  met  Bony  on  the  street. 

"Look  here,  old  chap,"  he  said,  as  we  stepped 
aside,  "I'm  broke,  and  if  you'll  lend  me  ten 
thousand  dollars  I  can  do  you  a  favor." 

He  paused  and  looked  into  my  eyes,  but  I 
made  no  answer. 

"I  know  that  McCarthy  has  been  looking  for 
evidence  against  the  Erie  party  for  their  sins  in 
Albany,"  he  went  on.  "That's  why  he  split 
with  the  Commodore.  I  can  help  him.  I  could 
tell  him  things  that  would  put  some  of  them 
behind  the  bars.  The  consolidation  of  the  Cen 
tral  and  Hudson  River  systems  will  be  coming 
on  this  fall.  I'll  put  a  whip  in  your  hands  that 
will  keep  them  out  of  Albany." 

I  found  McCarthy,  and  brought  the  two  men 
together.  The  gentleman  listened  while  Bony 
set  forth  his  evidence  and  promised  two  affi 
davits  in  support  of  it. 

327 


The    Hand-Made   Gentleman 

"All  right,"  said  McCarthy,  "bring  your  wit 
nesses  to  me.  If  they're  satisfactory,  I'll  buy 
your  note  for  one  year  for  ten  thousand  dollars, 
on  the  understanding  that  we're  both  acting  in 
the  interest  of  public  decency." 

Jo  and  I  left  for  New  York  a  few  days  later. 
I  had  a  letter  in  my  pocket  to  the  Prince  of  Erie. 
It  was  from  the  Hon.  Bonaparte  Squares,  and 
advised  the  Prince  of  certain  facts  in  our  pos 
session,  and  gave  him  a  word  of  warning.  We 
thought  that  the  letter  should  go  straight  to  his 
hands,  and  I  undertook  to  deliver  it. 

"He'll  know  who  you  are,  and  that  will  set 
him  thinking,"  said  McCarthy.  "You  may  talk, 
if  necessary,  but  don't  say  a  word." 

I  turned  into  Broad  Street  with  the  letter 
early  in  the  afternoon  of  Black  Friday — that 
memorable  twenty  -  fourth  day  of  September, 
1869.  Those  two  cunning  men,  Fisk  and  his  part 
ner,  had  a  corner  in  gold.  For  an  hour  its  price 
had  been  mounting  by  leaps  and  bounds. 

Wall  and  Broad  streets  were  like  brimming 
rivers  full  of  boiling  rapids  and  roaring  whirl 
pools  and  slow  eddies  and  deep  undercurrents. 
Now  and  then  one  heard  a  shrill  cry  like  that  of 
a  man  drowning.  The  currents  swept  me  along, 
wavering  from  curb  to  curb.  A  friend  touched 
my  arm  and  shouted : 

328 


Peace 

"Shake,  old  man!  We  haven't  much  to  lose, 
and  we're  lucky.  Every  minute  now  somebody 
is  going  broke." 

I  took  my  letter  to  Fisk's  office.  By  that  time 
the  price  of  gold  had  begun  to  tumble.  Fisk's 
door  was  open,  and  I  walked  in.  There,  in  the 
middle  of  a  large  room,  stood  the  greatest  gam 
bler  of  an  age  of  hazards.  He  wore  a  coat  of 
blue  velvet  with  a  white  flower  in  its  lapel.  He 
stood  by  a  small  table,  and  was  pouring  cham 
pagne  into  a  row  of  glasses.  A  basket  of  wine 
lay  at  his  feet.  The  chairs  around  the  room 
seemed  to  be  filled  with  dead  men,  their  faces 
ghastly  white,  their  eyes  staring.  A  colored 
boy  passed  the  wine.  The  Prince  of  Erie  raised 
his  glass,  and  said: 

"Boys,  when  you're  picking  a  goose,  the  point 
is  to  get  as  many  feathers  as  you  can  every  grab, 
with  as  little  squawking  as  possible." 

He  took  the  letter  I  carried,  and  went  with  me 
into  the  outer  office,  reading  as  he  walked.  Men 
crowded  about  us,  seeking  a  word  with  Fisk. 
He  turned  to  me,  and  said: 

"Sit  down  a  minute;  I'm  very  busy  now." 

I  took  a  chair,  and  watched  the  great  gambler 
as  he  spoke  to  the  men  who  pressed  about  him. 
He  was  jocular,  good-natured,  kindly. 

"Cheer  up,  old  fellow,"  he  would  say,  with  an 
329 


The   Hand-Made   Gentleman 

affectionate  tap  on  the  shoulder,  "your  turn 
will  come  one  of  these  days." 

I  waited  for  an  hour  or  more. 

The  market  closed.  The  half-crazed  players 
in  this  temple  of  fortune  were  moving  out  of  its 
door.  Soon  the  place  was  empty  of  all  save  the 
clerks  and  the  Prince  himself  and  two  or  three 
hangers-on. 

As  Fisk  was  turning  to  me  a  man  of  clerical 
dress  and  manners  accosted  him. 

"Mr.  Fisk,"  said  he,  "we  need  a  fence  around 
the  cemetery  up  there  in  Bennington,  and  I've 
come  to  ask  you  to  help  us." 

What  a  finish  for  that  deadly  day  of  torment ! 

The  Prince  laughed. 

"A  fence  around  a  cemetery!"  he  exclaimed. 
"You  don't  need  it.  Those  who  are  in  can't 
get  out,  and  those  who  are  out  don't  want  to 
get  in,  so  what's  the  use;  but  here's  fifty  dollars." 

He  gave  him  the  money,  and  turned  to  me,  and 
said: 

"Sorry  I  kept  you  so  long.  Come  into  my 
room  a  minute." 

I  followed  him,  and  he  sat  down  beside  me. 
He  had  carefully  considered  his  plan. 

"I've  had  a  hard  battle,"  he  said.  "War  is 
war,  whether  you  fight  with  guns  or  money. 
Here  in  Wall  Street  we  cut  close  to  the  heart 

330 


Peace 

sometimes,  but  we  don't  kill,  and  we  don't  try 
to  make  ourselves  believe  that  God  is  on  either 
side — at  least,  nobody  but  Uncle  Dan'l,  and,  you 
know,  he  builds  a  church  whenever  he  grabs  a 
million  as  a  reward  to  Providence.  We're  like 
a  lot  of  soldiers.  We  take  what  we  can  get,  and 
when  we're  surrounded  we  cut  our  way  out  if 
we  can.  Do  you  like  Albany?" 

He  smiled  as  he  put  the  question. 

"Very  much,"  was  my  answer. 

"Well,  I  don't,"  said  he.  "I'm  going  to  keep 
away  from  there,  and  so  are  my  friends.  It's 
full  of  temptations.  Think  of  that  bargain 
counter!  There's  nothing  like  it  in  the  world. 
I  never  saw  such  an  array  of  jewelry,  and  all  so 
cheap!" 

We  laughed,  and  I  left  him,  and  thought  of 
the  wise,  far-seeing  gentleman  who  had  sent  me 
there.  I  thought,  too,  of  the  long  war  of  the 
Rebellion,  and  of  all  that  its  years  of  slaughter 
and  pillage  had  cost  us — a  loss  of  respect  for 
sacred  things,  which  was,  somehow,  signalized  in 
the  character  of  Colonel  Fisk,  to  whom  business 
was  war  and  property  the  prize  of  battle. 

I  had  other  things  to  do,  and  when  I  walked 
up  Broad  Street,  in  the  early  evening,  the  banks 
were  all  open  and  the  Street  crowded,  and  I  saw 
numbers  of  men  who  had  been  rich  that  morning 

331 


The   Hand-Made    Gentleman 

sitting  dejectedly  on  the  curb  together  eating 
sandwiches,  and  among  them  was  Bony. 

That  night  I  heard  General  Hampton  say,  in 
the  lobby  of  the  St.  Nicholas,  that  there  would 
have  been  no  war  if  our  railroads  had  run  north 
and  south  instead  of  east  and  west,  and  it  was 
true. 

There  was  a  great  awakening  in  the  land.  It 
was  the  age  of  invention.  Hundreds  of  cor 
porations,  with  millions  behind  them,  joined 
the  armies  of  steam-power  and  marched  upon 
the  capitals  demanding  favor.  Enthusiasm  ran 
high.  Many  a  captain  forgot  other  considera 
tions  in  thinking  of  the  greatness  of  his  cause. 
They  did  much  harm,  but  they  were  building 
the  pyramids  for  us  and  our  children  forever, 
and  we  may  say  now,  as  we  gather  the  fruit  of 
their  toil:  Poor  fellows!  how  little  time  was 
given  them  in  which  to  regret  or  enjoy  the  things 
they  did!  After  all,  we  can  afford  to  repair  the 
evil  for  the  sake  of  the  good. 

I  thank  God  that  I  have  lived  to  see  the  harness 
ing  of  the  swift  horses  of  Niagara,  and  the  great 
earth  laced  with  streams  of  power  that  turn  night 
into  day  and  day  into  immeasurable  service. 


THE    END 


DIVERSITY  OB  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY,  LOS  ANGELES 

COLLEGE  LIBRARY 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


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